


The Shadows Behind Us

by teacass (Fushigi)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angel Castiel, Canon-Typical Violence, Community: deancasbigbang, DCBB 2015, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2015, Falling In Love, Fluff, Horses, Hunter Dean, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, M/M, Magic, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Wing Kink, Wings, lots of travelling and sleeping under the stars, references to John Winchester - Freeform, references to angel/demon war, tiny references to torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-29 19:43:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 71,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5140190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fushigi/pseuds/teacass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean first sees the stranger in the tavern, he doesn’t realise his life is about to change so drastically. When he stumbles across a half-dead angel in the woods the same night and decides to take him home, he may have a vague idea. So really, the fact that he ends up in the middle of something that Charlie would call an ‘awesome adventure’ with an angel by his side shouldn’t be that surprising. </p><p>A fantasy AU with injured wings, days spent on horseback, and sleeping under the stars; about a journey in search of answers and a discovery of new truths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, friends!  
> Taking part in the Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge was one of my resolutions for this year and I am so very happy I managed to accomplish it! This is my first time doing it, but definitely won't be the last--I had too much fun. This story has been stuck in my head for a few years now (although it wasn't a Dean/Cas version at the beginning) and I'm glad I can finally share it with someone!
> 
> The BIGGEST thank you to my amazing artist, [Bow](http://bowandbow.tumblr.com/)! It was a pleasure working with you and I couldn't dream of a better and kinder person to experience DCBB for the first time with! :) Please, check out the gorgeous art masterpost [here](http://bowandbow.tumblr.com/post/132664118124/dcbb-2015-art-masterpost-for-the-shadows-behind) :)  
> Also, of course, HUGE thanks to my lovely beta-readers: [Allison](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DarcyDelaney) and [Rae](http://archiveofourown.org/users/elevensong/pseuds/elevensong). The story wouldn't look the same without their help. Much love to [Ewa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lottie_C/profile), too, who was my first reader and whose comments made me laugh not once, not twice, but every time. Thank you, guys!  
> Finally, I wanna say sorry to my roommate and best friend who had to endure months of me babbling about Dean and Cas in armours and who helped me with some horse stuff--and she doesn't even watch Supernatural!
> 
> Thank you and I hope you'll like it! :)

_how our bodies, born to heal,_

_become so prone to die?_

 - Sleeping At Last, _Mars_

 

 

There was a man in a hood sitting in the dark corner of the tavern and Dean couldn’t take his eyes off him.

“…so then I said to her, ‘Gilda, he’s not good for you, can’t you see that?’ But she said, ‘Oh no, Charlie, you don’t know him!’ And, I mean, this is bullshit, right? Everyone knows him. He’s bad news. She should really stop spending so much time—”

Dean looked back at his friend and blinked. “What?” he asked.

Charlie sighed, exasperated. “Dean! Have you been listening to me at all?”

Dean quirked a brow at her. “Are we still talking about your girlfriend and her boyfriend?” he joked.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Charlie grumbled.

“But you wish she was.”

“Duh! Have you seen her?”

Dean laughed and shook his head. “Just talk to her, Charlie. Tell her how you feel or something.”

Charlie gaped at him. “Tell her how I feel? Are you actually saying I should talk about my feelings with her?” When Dean only shrugged, his friend gave out a quiet gasp. “Dude. We do not talk about our feelings with people we like. I thought you knew that.”

“Hey, and how do you think I ever get some?” Dean said in a hushed tone. “See that waitress over there?” He pointed to a slender, dark-haired beauty Benny had hired only a few nights ago. “That, my friend, is Lisa. I know that because I talked to her.”

Charlie leant over the table and lowered her voice, too. “You slept with her already?” she asked, scandalised.

Dean rolled his eyes. “No! Come on. But that’s my point. To sleep with her, I’m gonna have to give her some signs, some of them should be verbal—”

“Okay, but you don’t really like her, Dean,” Charlie interrupted him. “You don’t even know her. Gilda’s something entirely different. I don’t just wanna sleep with her—although, of course, I kinda do—but, you know, she’s one of my best friends and I feel like I can—”

Dean tuned her out again and his eyes slid over to where Lisa was just serving beer to new customers. He smiled to himself, took a sip out of his own mug, and smiled even wider. The beer he’d bought tonight was worth every amount of money—Benny, the owner of the tavern and his close friend, personally made sure Dean received something better than the watered down excuse for a beer he usually served to every drunk bastard with a penny to spare. It was a good night; he and Sam had earned a nice sum of money yesterday for hunting and killing that manticore that had been terrorizing the neighbouring town for months. Today, Sam had left for a few nights to pay a visit to his friend slash object of desire, Jessica, which meant Dean could spend this time going out with Charlie, passing time in Benny’s tavern, and ogling Lisa.

He didn’t even mind the crowds in the tavern that much.

Charlie kept talking, but he couldn’t really concentrate on her words, his eyes wandering over the other patrons and their behaviour. A group of men seated in the middle of the chamber seemed to be having a really good time, considering the amount of alcohol they had already poured into themselves and their loud, cheery voices. Lisa had disappeared and Dean looked around, trying to find her. Then his gaze found the man in the dark corner one more time.

Dean scoffed. The guy looked ridiculous—dressed in a long dark cloak, with a big hood covering his head as well as his face. Before, he’d been talking with another man, their heads hung low and very conspicuous. Now he was alone, slightly hunched over, his pale, wide hands on the table. Dean stared at him, intrigued. Despite the hood, he could still see the man’s strong jawline and a prominent chin, but for some reason, he felt as if he would give anything to be able to look underneath the hood, too.

“Dean?” he heard Charlie say and immediately looked back at her.

“Hm? I was listening!” he said.

Charlie shook her head. “Who are you looking at?” she asked in a secretive tone. “Is it that Lisa of yours again?”

“Uhm, no. Actually, I can’t really find her anywhere.” He looked back at the cloaked man again and then back at Charlie. “But you see that guy over there? He’s kind of creepy.”

Charlie followed his gaze, then nodded. “Yeah. Who’s that? Do you know him?”

“Nope.” Dean narrowed his eyes.

“You think he’s up to something?”

“Maybe…”

“Oh, crap,” Charlie said and Dean tore his gaze away from the stranger to look at her. She was staring at the table in the middle of the room, the one with the drinking men, her brows pinched. The group seemed to be heavily intoxicated now, and they started to raise their voices and hit their fists on the table, deep in their argument. “Aw, come on! Can’t we have one night that doesn’t end with a fight?” she complained.

“Hard times,” Dean murmured. He watched the men, a hand on the hilt of the blade strapped to his thigh. As a hunter, he didn’t usually fight with people, but Benny was one of his best friends and he wouldn’t hesitate if it came to helping him get rid of the drunkards from his tavern. He noticed some of the patrons had already left, while others kept sneaking worried glances at the men. Benny stood behind the counter, both hands gripping the edge and a stormy expression on his face.

“Why are they even fighting, anyway?” Charlie tried to listen to the drunkards’ words, but they were nearly incomprehensible.

“Politics, probably,” Dean said with a shrug. “One guy happens to think we should join angels and help them win the war, the others get furious. ‘Angels? Are you mad? Over my dead body! I’d rather side with demons!’” he mocked.

“‘Oh nooo! I say: to hell with demons! They killed my old man!’” Charlie joined him.

Dean shook his head. “They should just go and slaughter everyone,” he grumbled. “If they can even manage to come close enough to an angel or a demon to scratch them, let alone kill them.”

“Most of them have probably never even met one,” Charlie mused.

Dean glanced at her. “Neither have you,” he quipped.

“Nor you,” she shot back.

“Oh, excuse me. I’ve met some demons.”

“Yeah, but you travel a lot. And they like jumping out on people who don’t expect anything.” Charlie kept looking at the men and winced when one of them threw a glass full of beer at the other’s head. “We should probably go.”

“I wanna help Benny,” Dean said. The owner, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, came out from behind the counter and headed towards the middle table.

“Benny can manage a few drunk idiots.” Charlie grabbed his arm. “Please, let’s go. You know I don’t like taking part in such things.”

Dean rolled his eyes at her. “You know, for a person who claims to love adventures and danger and dreams of a quest of her own, you really are a coward.”

Charlie hit him in the shoulder. “Screw you! I just… don’t want some random glass land on my head and beer spill on my new shirt and also I promised Gilda I’d be more careful and—Okay. Whatever, I am a coward. Just get me outta here.”

Dean smirked. “Told you.” He looked over at Benny who stood by the shouting men, then stood up. “Okay, maybe I’ll come back later to check if everything’s alright. Let’s go.”

Charlie sprang out of her chair, too, and followed him to the doors, together with some other patrons who didn’t want to risk being inside when the real brawl started. Instinctively, Dean glanced over his shoulder to look at the dark corner one more time, but the stranger in a hood was already gone.

Outside, the night was warm but cloudy. Charlie grabbed Dean’s arm and dragged him out of the main part of Lawrence, in the direction of her house. Dean didn’t protest, even though he knew he would have to go back twice this distance since his own house stood on the opposite side of their town—it was the middle of the night and he wouldn’t let her go back on her own, anyway.

“So what are you going to do about Gilda?” he asked after a moment.

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “Nothing, probably. Maybe I’ll wait until she gets bored of Boltar and comes back to her senses. And to me.”

Dean patted her on her red head and she tried to bat his hand away. “I’m sure she will. Who wouldn’t want you? I mean, if I was a—”

A low moan that pierced the night air made him stop in the middle of the sentence. They both froze and looked at each other.

“What was that?” Charlie whispered. She looked around, eyes big.

“No idea,” Dean said. “Probably just a bird.”

Charlie stared at the surrounding thicket. “Never heard a bird make a sound like that,” she murmured. “I know we shouldn’t have taken that shortcut.”

“Relax,” Dean said quietly and squeezed her arm. “It’s not like you’re—”

This time the sound was clearer and much louder, accompanied with a thud and a growl. Dean felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on their ends. He ignored Charlie’s soft gasp and yanked his arm out of her grip, then jumped right into the thick bushes and rushed towards the source of the sounds. Charlie squeaked something after him, but he couldn’t hear her anymore, the instinct to hunt and kill a monster swelling in his gut. Tree branches swiped at his face, but he didn’t pay them any mind. Running, he drew out the blade from the straps on his hip.

The loud moan sounded again, resonating through the trees.

Dean stopped when he noticed some movement just a few feet ahead in between the tree trunks. He held his breath and gripped his weapon as tight as possible, then hid behind a wide trunk and peeked around it at the very small clearing in front of him.

For a moment, all he could see were the broad back of three men. They talked in hushed tones and Dean wasn’t able to understand them, but then one of them lifted his arm. The silver knife in his hand glinted in the dark and Dean heard a wet sound of the weapon slicing through the flesh.

Something grabbed his shoulder. Dean flinched and realised it was Charlie only after a few long seconds.

“What the hell is going on there!” she hissed and gripped his arm tighter.

Dean tried to silence her with his gaze, but then there came a cry so loud and full of pain that they both froze and let their mouths hang open from shock. Dean felt a cold shiver crawl down his spine; his legs and hands wanted to act instinctively, urged him to move forward and help, but he forced his body to stay in place, too anxious to do anything just yet.

“—just tell us where he is,” came an angry voice. Dean wanted to see something through the darkness of the night and the trees, but all he saw were the dimmed silhouettes of two, maybe three men in the middle of the clearing. “T’s that easy, pal. Just talk.”

It seemed Dean’s eyes had become more accustomed to the dark because he was able to recognise more movements between the trees now. One of the men—possibly the one that was talking—bent down at the waist as if he was looking at someone who lay on the ground. Dean saw the icy gleam of the steel again.

“Open your mouth and talk, you son of a bitch,” another voice hissed.

There was no answer, however, at least not one expressed with words. Instead, someone gave out a prolonged, agonised groan. One of the men moved out of the line of sight and Dean’s breath hitched when he saw what was happening in front of them.

Someone—a person, a man—wasn’t lying on the ground; he kneeled at the feet of his oppressors, his head bowed low and his hands clutching at the ground in front of him. Even in the darkness, Dean could notice that the man’s dark cloak had been ripped off his shoulders with what seemed like a lot of brutality, and it now hung from his body. Suddenly, Dean became absolutely certain that this was the man he had seen back in the tavern.

Dean had no idea who he was or what his crime was. Did he even deserve such a treatment? Dean wasn’t any sort of a guard in the town, either. He had no obligation to offer his help; he was a hunter—someone people hired to kill monsters. But now, at this moment, all the voices in his head kept telling him that the only monsters here were those men.

If it wasn’t for Charlie still standing right beside him and tugging at his hand, Dean would have barged in there and started to slash and shed blood. He looked at her over his shoulder, noticed her wide eyes and pale face, perfectly visible in the dark. She looked just like he felt.

“Let’s go,” she mouthed. She glanced over to the clearing and then back to Dean. “Please.”

Everything inside him was pushing him towards the clearing; he could swear the blade in his hand had become heavier within the last few minutes. He had no idea why, but something deep inside of him longed to save the man he didn’t even know.

But then Charlie’s fingers clutched at his sleeve and he breathed out. Unlike him, she wasn’t a hunter. She still got nervous whenever Dean drew his sword and she herself refused to touch most of the weapons, maybe apart from her little self-defense knife she carried at all times.

So Dean, with a last look at the clearing, put his blade back, took Charlie’s hand, and led her back to the path they’d been following before. They didn’t talk; Charlie’s face was white and Dean could feel her hand tremble, and his own thoughts seemed to stay back in the bushes with those men, wondering what the hell was even happening there and if someone would die tonight because of him.

Charlie pulled him out of his gloomy reverie when she turned to face him at the steps to her door. “I’m sorry, Dean,” she said quietly. “I’m really sorry, I know I’m pathetic—”

“You’re not pathetic, Charlie,” Dean said and felt the need to hug her, but he refrained. “It’s me that should be sorry. I mean, I didn’t want to… endanger you, I’m… yeah. Sorry. It was foolish.”

“You just wanted to jump in there and help,” she said, wide-eyed, and for a second Dean thought she was accusing him. But then she continued, “And I understand. You’re you, Dean. You always want to help and—”

“Okay, okay,” he brushed her off because he didn’t want to hear any praises, not now, not after he had probably left that man to die. “Just—go home. Go to sleep.”

“You’re going back there, aren’t you.” Charlie eyed him warily and Dean shook his head.

“I—I don’t know. I’m not—” Dean frowned and tried to stop imagining the dead body someone would find in the forest tomorrow. It must have been just a common robbery. It happened from time to time, everywhere, even in Lawrence. Dean wasn’t a guard to track down robbers or… or murderers. He hunted monsters. Real, non-humanoid supernatural creatures normal people were too scared to take care of.

How many more times would he have to remind himself that he was merely a hunter?

Charlie wrapped her arms around him so suddenly that he didn’t even have time to back away.

“Be careful. And meet me tomorrow!” she whispered, stepped back, and ran to her house.

Dean had intended to go home, he really had. But then he found himself on the road leading to the forest and he couldn’t go back. Not again.

He stayed off the beaten tracks and went straight to where they had first heard the voices. His heart gave a leap when a small animal crossed his path out of the sudden, and, despite the fact that everything seemed silent as a grave, he pulled his blade out again and kept it firmly in his hand. He heard no voices this time. No matter how long he looked, he didn’t see any people, either. He didn’t let himself think about blood or knives or corpses lying around, so he just looked around carefully and naively hoped that the men had just ended up burying the hatchet and laughing about the whole situation, and the guy in the cloak had just got up, brushed his clothes and—

There it was.

Dean could feel his blood turn cold and he gulped.

There, in the tall grass near the edge of the clearing, lay a body.

If only Sam had been in town, Dean thought miserably as his legs took him closer and closer to the corpse. His brother would have probably been in the tavern with them, and then Dean would have sent him to walk Charlie to her house, and he would have the opportunity to at least try and learn what the hell all of that had been about. He wouldn’t have felt as if he had blood on his hands because he would have fucking done something—

And then his thoughts stopped as if cut with a blade because suddenly he noticed two big shadow-like things on the back of the body. He blinked once, twice, and then kept staring because he could swear on everything he held precious that these were wings. Huge, black, honest-to-God wings.

Which meant the guy wasn’t a guy. He was an angel.

Never in his twenty-six-year-long life had Dean met an angel. Despite that whole thing with the constant war between angels and demons and the fact that—as he told Charlie tonight—he had met some demons and even fought with one or two of them during his hunts—he had never really met an angel before. He didn’t even really know how he felt about them. He knew he hated demons but, unlike many other people, he still remained quite neutral towards angels.

He thought he would never have to worry about it; he thought he would never meet angels.

But he did. And now he had to bury one.

He felt dizzy when he kneeled down and started to gingerly touch the wings with his fingertips. They felt rough and firm, not at all like he would imagine angel wings would feel. He remembered demon wings: they felt more like skin when he’d happened to touch them, with no feathers, but similarly black and big. The angel wings in front of him seemed to be severely damaged; even in the dark, Dean could see the feathers sticking out in strange directions and he winced. It must have hurt like hell.

The angel lay face down in the ground so Dean began to turn him over, slowly, mindful of the wings which kept getting in the way. He needed to see the angel’s face, to finally be able to look at him without the hood. To make sure he was really gone.

One of the wings grazed his knee when he tried to turn the body over, and he breathed in and out quickly to calm himself. Then his hand touched something wet and sticky and he closed his eyes, starting to feel sick. His hands were surprisingly steady, though, when he started to smooth out that damned cloak, wet and ripped in various places. He reached over to brush the fragments of wet soil and leaves from the corpse’s face.

And then he felt a faint, barely-there breath on the skin of his hand.

The angel was alive.

“Hey, hey,” Dean said, his voice stuck in his throat. “Oh my God. Hey, can you hear me? God, please tell me you can hear me.”

He wasn’t surprised he didn’t get an answer so he just continued feeling all over the angel’s body; he pushed his cloak aside and searched for more serious wounds, but it seemed the one on his side with all the blood was the only one. Except, of course, for his wings.

“God,” he muttered and then realised he probably shouldn’t talk about God in front of an angel. “I mean, uh. Please, man, don’t die on me yet—” He thought that ‘man’ wasn’t really suitable here, either, and calling him ‘angel’ would obviously feel too weird, so he just shut his mouth and looked around.

What now?


	2. Chapter 2

Dean’s hatred for demons grew out of the fact that they had killed his mother.

He was only four when it happened, and his brother, Sam, had been alive for just a few months, too. Dean didn’t know the reasons; maybe it was merely a coincidence and their family became an accidental victim of the war; maybe it was the fact that his family had been dealing with the hunting business since the times of Dean’s grandfather and it somehow didn’t agree with demon politics—but neither of the options seemed really convincing to Dean. His father wasn’t satisfied with those answers, too, and had taken up roaming the God-forsaken world to find revenge, leaving Dean and his brother, still only children back then, almost completely alone. They were raised by the neighbourhood—mostly by the old Bobby from the forge and his good lady friend, Ellen, who used to run the inn, but gave it up when a few more successful taverns had started their own businesses in their town.

Dean’s father spent most of his days on the road, forever angry at the world and never able to settle down and live with his sons, not without Mary. He had managed to teach Sam and Dean almost everything about hunting; he would still feed them little pieces of information every time he rolled into town, which usually happened every few weeks.

He hadn’t been home in a few months now, but neither Dean nor Sam really minded it. They loved their father, sure—he was all they had left of their family, apart from each other. Even Sam, who had a habit of striking up a fight with their dad almost every time he arrived, always appreciated his visits, even if he used to bitch to Dean about this or that when Dad couldn’t hear it.

So, Dean hated demons. Sam hated demons. And John’s hatred was probably twice as big as theirs. But even after over two decades, John still wasn’t able to find his revenge. The war between angels and demons continued, too, and humans kept getting caught in the middle of their fighting, forever unsure of which side to take, even though angels kept mostly to themselves and rarely engaged in direct attacks on people, unlike demons.

One thing was sure: people were getting tired of the war but remained too weak to take active part in it and finish it, and it seemed only angels were able to defeat demons once and for all.

 

***

 

“So I’ve, uh, heard you guys are at war with each other,” Dean said just to keep his mind occupied with something else than the blood on the angel’s clothes or the state his wings were in. He groaned when he managed to push the stranger up and throw one of his arms over his own shoulders. He could feel the wings hang limply behind the guy’s back and he prayed to whoever was listening that he wouldn’t damage them anymore that they already were. He stood up shakily and caught the angel around his waist underneath his wings to keep him upright, but when he tried to take a few steps, walking proved unmanageable. The angel was unconscious and had absolutely no powers in any of his limbs.

“Uh, this is gonna be a nightmare,” Dean mumbled and swiped a free hand over his face. It was a middle of the night, with no more than three or four hours until dawn. He really hoped no one would come across him dragging a half-dead guy with a huge pair of wings to his house because that would certainly raise some interesting questions. Demons might have been responsible for most of the attacks on their town, but people in Lawrence weren’t really angels’ biggest fans, either.

He stood more firmly on the ground, bent his knees a little and, holding the angel around his middle, pushed him up over his shoulder, holding him with the hands on his back. One of the wings hit him in the face and he cursed under his breath and batted it away.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Just, uh, hang in there, man, I beg you. Just for a while longer.”

He didn’t want to think about what he was actually trying to do—take a heavily injured angel to his house and what, nurse him back to health? how?—so he started to walk, slowly at first, trying to find the best way of keeping the angel from falling over his shoulder, then quicker with every step.

At least Sam would be away for two more days so Dean would have time to figure something out. But first, he needed to get the angel into the house and look over his wounds in the proper light.

Dean only managed to walk several yards before he started to feel tired. The angel was a grown man and not a weakling—which Dean had a chance to discover while feeling around his body. Dean really wanted to avoid dragging the angel by the leg to his house, so he just tightened his jaw and kept walking.

He experienced a minor heart attack when a light went on in one of the windows while he was walking quickly past the row of houses. He stopped dead in his tracks and tightened his grip on the angel thrown over his shoulder, but nothing happened. He quickened his pace and, by the time he reached the little path leading to his house, he was panting and sweating extensively.

Their house stood alone outside of the main part of the town, just like Charlie’s, and for once Dean was extremely grateful they had no real neighbours who could watch him and his nightly excursion through their windows. The house was small but comfortable, with enough space for Dean, his brother, and their father when he happened to visit occasionally. It wasn’t the same house they’d lived in when Mary was killed—that one had burned down to the ground that night—but they had spent almost their entire lives here.

With a grunt, Dean bent, put the angel down carefully on the little step in front of his doors, and  propped him on the wooden pillar, but the angel started to slide down anyway. Dean took out the key from his pocket and managed to catch the angel just before he fell face down onto the stone step. He quickly opened the door and kicked them open.

“Here we go,” he said, leant down, and caught the angel under his arms. Then he started to drag him gracelessly into the house, but stopped immediately when he realised he would have to drag the wings over the floor, too. “Alright, then,” he muttered and stooped in front of the angel. At least no one was there to witness it, he thought before hooking his arms under the angel’s knees and his back, doing his best not to press too hard on the wings. He stood up, quickly carried him to the house, and then shut the door with his leg.

He spent a few seconds contemplating his next move, then walked over to the bedroom he shared with Sam and put the angel on his own bed.

“Damn, you look terrible.” Dean couldn’t help but wince when he finally lit up the lamp and took a proper look at the injured stranger. He rushed to his side and touched a hand to his lips, relieved when he felt breathing. “You’re a tough son of a bitch, aren’t you,” Dean smiled bitterly. “Alright, let’s clean you up.”

Trying to be as quick and gentle as possible, Dean gathered what he thought were the most important supplies from the main chamber and got to work. Fortunately, he had years of experience, so treating the wound didn’t prove too difficult for him. He tore the angel’s cloak and the shirt he wore underneath, then cleaned the cut and the skin around it, checking for any sign of infection. It seemed the wound wasn’t as severe as it had looked; yes, it kept bleeding a bit, but now, after Dean had cleaned it, it turned out it wasn’t too deep to be a threat.

Fortunately, the wound was clear-cut enough for Dean to be able to sew it quickly with a needle and some thread. Then, he covered the wound with a clean gauze and held it with his hand. He looked up at the angel’s unmoving face. It was still covered with dirt and some blood, but Dean decided it could wait. He frowned, scanning the angel’s features, his dark dirty hair, his closed eyes. From what he’d heard, angels had healing powers. Why wasn’t he healing himself, then? And why was he still unconscious?

Dean’s gaze fell on the mess that was his wings. One of them was uncomfortably tucked underneath him and the other hung from the bed, black feathers sweeping the floor.

Dean’s hands moved automatically to skim over the delicate feathers. They seemed dead to him, similar to dry and rough fur on dead animals. He noticed that apart from the feathers sticking in every direction, a major injury seemed to be centred on the bones.

Dean didn’t know a thing about angel wing anatomy, but he’d had enough dead or half-dead birds in his hands during his life and he suspected there wouldn’t be so many differences between the two species. Instead of thinking himself into worry and confusion, he got up and went out of the room once again to grab anything that could help him save the wings. He found several loose branches that he hadn’t used that morning to make the fire and managed to tear some of the thinner sticks off them.

Stabilising the broken bones in the angel’s wings turned out to be easier than doing the same for birds—mainly because they were bigger and less difficult to move around, but also because the angel, in contrast to some of the birds, lay completely motionless.

When Dean was done with the first wing, he hovered over the angel and once again checked for his breath and pulse, just to find them present, if a bit slow and weak.

“You’re doing great,” he said because he could feel the silence already working its way under his skin—similar to the way sleepiness was slowly fogging up his mind and eyes.

God, he needed sleep.

But, because he happened to have an almost dead angel on his bed, he needed to finish treating his other wing first.

 

***

 

It was, at first, a quiet moan that woke him.

He opened his eyes and lay like that for some time, staring sleepily at the wall in front of him and wondering where he was. After a while, his sleep-drugged mind reminded him that he was in his brother’s bed because—oh, right. Because his own was occupied by the dead angel.

Hence the wall on the wrong side of the bed.

He hummed as if agreeing with his own mind and then closed his eyes again, ready to go back to sleep.

But then a loud thud, accompanied by a pained grunt, got him on his feet.

Dean sprung right out of the bed and reached for the knife that he always kept under his pillow. The room was dark except for the faint moonlight coming through the window, but Dean’s eyes zeroed in on the black shape in the middle of the floor almost immediately.

The angel was kneeling down, bent over himself. It looked as if he was trying to cover himself with his wings, but he could barely even move them because of the broken bones. Dean heard a quiet whimper and felt his insides clench with sympathy.

“Hey,” he started soothingly, stooped down, and reached his hand out to show that he didn’t mean any harm.

Upon hearing his voice, the angel’s head snapped up and he looked at him with wide, panicked eyes. Dean took a step in his direction and the angel hissed and tried to flap his wings defensively. One of the sticks Dean had used to stabilise his bones fell onto the floor; the angel cried out in pain and curled in on himself even more.

“No, no, don’t move!” Dean warned but didn’t try to approach him anymore. “Your wings are a mess, you have to hold still, got it?”

For a moment, Dean wasn’t sure the angel could even understand what he was saying, but then he lifted his head again and looked at Dean. They stared at each other for some time; Dean wanted to reassure the angel that he didn’t have bad intentions towards him. He also breathed out in relief when he finally managed to find some signs of humanity—or at least human consciousness—in his eyes.

“I’m not the one that did this to you, alright? I’m just trying to help. But I won’t be able to do that if you tear yourself apart again,” Dean explained, trying to keep both his voice and gaze still. He crouched down, with his hand still outstretched. “How are you feeling, man?”

He could swear he saw a faint sign of what could be a snarky answer on the angel’s face. Instead of speaking, though, he heaved himself up on his arms and winced in pain. Dean automatically moved closer and wanted to help, but the angel jolted back and hit his wings on the bed.

“Oh my God, stop it,” Dean said in a hushed tone. “I’m trying to help you!”

“No,” the angel growled and Dean froze, dumbstruck for a few seconds after hearing his voice for the first time.

“Man, your wings are freaking _broken_ ,” Dean finally said, but he stayed where he was. “You’re a wreck.”

“No,” the angel said, but his voice was less vigorous and more hurt now. “Stay back.”

“You gonna heal your wings yourself? Go on, then.” Dean snorted and crossed his arms expectantly over his chest.

But the angel looked at him miserably and didn’t answer, then craned his neck and tried to look over at his back instead.

“You see that?” Dean asked and pointed at the slings he had used to stabilise the bones. “I did it to help you. It’s going to heal, but you gotta give it time—”

“I can heal,” the angel whispered and reached with his hand to touch his wing. But the movement only caused him more pain and he collapsed onto the floor again, panting heavily.

“Alright, alright,” Dean said gently and walked over to him. He ignored the way the angel tried to move away again and finally managed to grab his arm. “We’ll talk about your healing tomorrow, right now you’re going back to bed, you stubborn son of a bitch.”

The angel fluttered his wings, tried to push Dean away and growled at him, but he was still extremely weak and finally ended up on the bed again, whimpering softly, with his breath shallow and his face sweaty and pale. Dean did all he could to move his wings out of the way so that the angel wouldn’t crush them completely while sleeping. He checked the wound on his side and adjusted the slings on his wings, which had loosened up because of all the moving.

The angel looked as if he was unconscious again and Dean started to turn back to go to sleep, but then the hand shot up and gripped him tight by his shoulder.

“Thank you,” the angel mouthed when Dean froze and looked down at him. His eyes were half open and Dean thought he could almost recognise the deep blue of his irises. He nodded curtly and, when the angel’s hand fell weakly down and his eyes closed shut, Dean sighed and went to bed.

 

***

 

He realised Sam would be back the next day when he was changing the bandage on the angel’s wound the following morning. The return of his brother meant that he would have to face the fact that he was presently hiding a freaking angel in their house and decide whether he wanted to keep it a secret or tell Sam the minute he walked in.

At least the angel wasn’t on his deathbed anymore.

Dean looked at his face. The angel was still sleeping or, what seemed more likely, clinging to unconsciousness to escape the pain. In bright daylight, Dean noticed a dark shadow of a stubble growing on his strong jaws; his hair was dishevelled, his pale lips parted, bags under his eyes dark and prominent. Focused mainly on his most severe injuries, Dean hadn’t really done anything with the little cuts and bruises on the angel’s face and only now did he even notice them at all. He cleaned his face with fresh water just to be safe, but it seemed he didn’t really need to do anything else—the purplish bruises under his eyes and on his jaws as well as the small red cuts on his cheeks would probably heal on their own soon enough.

Dean stayed still for a moment, staring down at the angel’s face, and didn’t notice his return to consciousness until he suddenly opened his eyes and looked at Dean. Dean flinched, surprised, and then smiled hesitantly.

“Oh, hi,” he said. The angel’s eyes widened and he looked as if he wanted to get up, so Dean immediately grabbed him by the shoulders and kept him in place. “I told you not to move, you idiot!”

The angel glared at him, even though just a second ago he looked like he was scared and in pain. Dean couldn’t help but huff a laugh.

“Do you want some water?” he asked, letting go of the angel’s shoulders, and reached for the cup on the nightstand. He bent down and put it to the angel’s lips even before he could answer.

The angel drank everything obediently, closing his eyes and only letting a few drops run down his face and neck. When he was finished, Dean straightened up. The angel followed him with his gaze and licked his lips.

“More,” he croaked. “Please.”

Dean blinked but didn’t protest, then disappeared into the kitchen and came back with more water. The angel emptied the cup once more, lifting his head just enough to make the drinking easier, and then sank back into the pillow, sighed softly, and closed his eyes.

“Do you want more?” Dean asked, uncertain.

The angel opened his eyes and looked at him. “No… thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Dean answered awkwardly, put the cup down, and bit his lips. “Do you need anything else? I guess you must be hungry, but I’m not sure if you can eat, not in your state—”

“No,” the angel said quietly and shook his head.

“…alright. Are you in pain?”

“Yes,” the angel whispered, closed his eyes, and turned his face away from Dean, who winced and also averted his gaze. He wanted to help but didn’t know how; he didn’t have any medicine or knowledge and he had already done everything he could.

“I’ll… leave you to sleep, then. Scream if you need anything,” Dean said awkwardly and promptly left the room.

He needed a distraction to stop thinking about this whole situation, so he locked the house and went into the town. To get his mind off the angel, he decided to see Benny.

 

***

 

“Brother,” Benny greeted him when he entered the tavern. The main chamber was almost completely empty, except for a few regulars silently sipping their liquor. Dean looked around, trying to find any signs of the fight from the other night, but didn’t see any.

“What happened yesterday?” he asked because only now did he realise that he never came back to help Benny, too preoccupied with his new tenant.

“Nothin’,” Benny shrugged. “I smashed a few faces. Got myself a new shiner, too. But you should’ve seen the other guys.” He grinned and showed Dean his black eye.

“I wanted to come and join the party, but something—Charlie wanted to go home,” Dean explained and slid onto the high stool in front of the counter.

Benny raised his eyebrow. “The goodness of your heart is so touching, sir,” he mocked.

“You know Charlie,” Dean rolled his eyes, “she’s a chickenshit.”

“And you’re not.”

“Hell no. You heard about that last manticore me and Sammy iced? It was huge, man. And pretty damn fast. But we were faster.”

“Good money?” Benny asked.

“Who do you think paid for your best beer yesterday? And Sam bought a little something for his girlfriend and took off to Stanford to pay her a surprise visit.”

“He’s still courting that girl of his?” Benny grinned and Dean grinned back.

“Jessica, yeah. He’s head over heels. I’m a bit scared he will decide to quit hunting and go down on one knee in front of her,” Dean said and he was only half-joking.

“Your brother’s able to do that, yeah,” Benny mused. “But he won’t just leave you alone, not Sam.”

“Let’s hope so,” Dean said and sighed.

Benny must have noticed Dean stare at the shelf full of alcohol because he arched a brow and asked, “You want something to drink?”

Dean bit his lip. Yeah, he did. It was barely noon, but he already felt the heaviness take its place on his shoulders, turning his thoughts gloomy and his mood sour. He was sleep-deprived and tired, and he really was starting to miss his brother.

Oh, and there was an angel on his bed.

That thought prompted him to wonder if the angel was still alive there, all alone in the house. Dean didn’t even tell him he was going out, didn’t leave him any water in case he was thirsty again. He looked at the liquor shelf behind Benny’s back and pointed at a brown bottle.

“How much for that one?” he asked, fishing for money in his pocket.

“You want the whole bottle?” Benny asked hesitantly.

“Yup. Sam’s coming home tomorrow. We’ll probably celebrate.”

Or he could just drink himself senseless and give what was left to the angel to numb his pain. But he didn’t say it out loud.

“Alright, then. Hope you’ll have fun,” Benny said. He put the bottle on the counter in front of Dean and Dean gave him the money. “Tell Sam hi from me.”

“Will do.” Dean stood up and grabbed his bottle. “Maybe we’ll see you tomorrow, though.”

“You’re not coming in tonight? Lisa’s working the night shift.” Benny smirked at him.

Dean chased away the image of Lisa from behind his eyes and just shook his head. “Sorry, I—I have some stuff to do. At home. But have a good night. And no more drunk idiots.”

“Nah, doesn’t matter, I’d just break their noses,” Benny stated nonchalantly.

“You do that. Gotta go, have to run some errands.”

Benny waved at him. “See you, brother.”

Gripping the neck bottle in his hand, Dean left the tavern and headed towards the marketplace. A small crowd of people strolled around the stalls, but Dean rushed through them, not interested in trading and gossiping with old merchants. But then he overheard someone talk about Benny’s tavern and the brawl. He stopped, looked around, and noticed the characteristic red hair.

She noticed him, too, obviously.

“Dean!” Charlie called and pushed past someone she’d been talking to and approached Dean. “Finally! Where’ve you been?”

“I’m just coming back from Benny’s, I need to—”

“I came by your house looking for you, but you weren’t there. You were supposed to meet me. I’ve been worried!” She jabbed him in the chest with her thin finger.

Dean froze, his mind stuck on the words ‘your house’. Dean was sure he’d locked the doors, but what if—

“Earth to Winchester! Why are you staring at me like that?” Charlie asked.

“I’m not staring at you like anything,” Dean said and shook his head. If Charlie had discovered the angel, she would have said something about it. “I’m okay, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Did you go to that meadow yesterday?” Charlie asked.

“Uhhh—” Dean balked, blinked, and turned away from her. “Sorry, I gotta go. I need to buy some—” He didn’t finish, just took off without even looking at her.

“Hey!” she called after him and immediately joined him at his side. Dean cursed her stubbornness in his head and just quickened his pace. “Where are you going? What happened yesterday?”

“Pharmacist. I’ve run out of some supplies, it’s nothing really important so you can go back to your own shopping—”

“Who was that man yesterday?” Charlie kept asking, gripping his sleeve and trotting alongside him so he couldn’t shake her off.

“I don’t know, Charlie, how would I know?” he grumbled.

“But you went back there, right? I know you did. Did you find anything?”

“No,” he lied without looking at her. “There was no one there.”

“Oh,” Charlie sighed. “Good. I hope they didn’t kill him or anything.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

They approached the pharmacist’s building and Dean went in, with Charlie dragging along and still chattering about what she thought really happened there. Dean ignored her and moved towards the owner to ask for bandages and some medicine for pain and wounds. Charlie kept eyeing him suspiciously when the pharmacist gave him a few bottles of mandrake and poppy juice and didn’t stop even after they left the shop.

“Care telling me why you need those?” she asked innocently.

Dean shrugged. “Ran out.”

“And the alcohol?”

“Sam’s coming home tomorrow.”

“Huh.”

They passed the marketplace but didn’t even slow down. Dean had hoped Charlie would leave him alone already, but she kept following him in the stubborn silence.

“I know something’s up, Winchester,” she finally said when they swerved on the road leading to Dean’s house. “So you better say willingly because when I find out sooner or later, I’m gonna be pissed you kept it a secret from me.”

“Is that a threat, Bradbury?” Dean laughed.

“Hell yeah, it is! You know what I’m capable of!”

“Yeah, I do, and that’s why I’m not telling you anything,” he said and smirked. Charlie smacked him on the arm and he sighed. “Seriously, Charlie, there’s nothing to tell! I just bought alcohol and painkillers. That is literally all I ever buy.”

“I don’t know, Dean.” Charlie narrowed her eyes at him. “I just have a feeling something’s off.”

They stopped at the path leading straight to Dean’s doors, Charlie with her hands on her hips and a stormy face. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Goodbye, Charlie,” he said, turned on his heel, and headed to his house.

“You’re a stinking liar!” Charlie shouted after him. “Peace out!”

Dean chuckled and entered the house, then locked the doors just in case Charlie decided to break in and snoop around right after him. He entered the main room which also happened to be a kitchen and put the bag with his new purchases on the table. He sat down on the chair with a heavy sigh and reached for some leftover bread lying on the shelf. For a few moments, he just chewed and stared at nothing in particular, his thoughts running around freely in his head.

He didn’t remember the last time he had really lied to Charlie. She was weird enough to understand all his odd decisions, and she would probably volunteer to help. He had no idea why, but he just didn’t want her to know; not yet, anyway. He didn’t want _anyone_ to know—

—which was bound to become a problem pretty damn soon since Sam was coming home _tomorrow_ and there was no chance in hell the angel would get on his feet by then.

Dean stood up abruptly, opened the bottle, poured himself a generous amount of alcohol and drank it in four gulps, then refilled the cup. There was some water in the bucket in the corner, which he had brought in from the stream early that morning; he hung a pot over the fireside, filled it with fresh water, and made a fire to heat it up. Then he grabbed the bottles from the pharmacist with one hand and his drink with the other, and headed to his room.

The angel was curled on his side, facing the wall, his wings stretched awkwardly behind him and falling to the floor. Dean entered quietly and approached him, then looked over the slings on the bones, careful not to step on the feathers. One of the bandages was slipping off and Dean bent down to adjust it.

The second he touched the feathers, though, the angel moved, turned to face him and, in consequence, withdrew his wings.

“Hey! Easy!” Dean said and backed away. “Just wanted to check on the bones.”

“I don’t want you to,” the angel replied, his voice low and hoarse but clear enough to be understandable.

Dean looked at him properly, scrutinised the red gauze over the wound on his side and his face, still pale but looking slightly better than last night. Dean emptied the cup he was still holding and put it on the nightstand, aware of the fact that the angel was watching him.

“Look, I wanna help. You’re bleeding again and I can change your bandages so it’ll heal nicely. Not to mention your wings.”

“Please don’t talk about my wings,” the angel said and pushed himself to a more or less sitting position, with wings tucked uncomfortably between the wall and his back.

“Dude, your wings are completely—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” he growled.

Dean glared at him and slammed the medicine on the nightstand. “Fine. Whatever. You wanna die? Be my guest. I don’t fucking need you here so you can just go on and die already.”

The angel stared back at him but didn’t move and then, after a few seconds, dropped his gaze miserably to the floor. Dean noticed that his hands were clutching the blanket he was covered with, fingers trembling.

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Who are you?” he asked tiredly.

“I am an angel.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, I figured that much. I mean, what’s your name?”

The angel looked up at him with a surprised face and wide blue eyes and said, “Castiel.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dean entered the room with a bowl of soup in his hands. The angel was lying on his side again, clearly trying to relieve the pressure on his wings and the injured side.

“I brought you food,” Dean stated and Castiel looked at him over his shoulder, awake just as Dean had thought. “It’s for you, but first you have to let me see your wound.”

“I’m not hungry, then,” Castiel muttered and turned back again.

“You haven’t eaten since yesterday, you must be hungry.” When the angel didn’t respond, Dean put the bowl on the nightstand. “Why do you care? I’ve already cleaned your wound a few times.”

“I don’t need anyone’s help.”

“Then get up and get out of my house,” Dean hissed.

“I can barely move,” the angel responded, throwing an angry look at Dean.

“ _You can barely move_ and you still don’t need my help? So what, you intend to die here, on my bed?”

“I will heal eventually,” Castiel murmured into the pillow.

“Yeah, about that.” Dean moved closer, ignoring the way Castiel’s body tensed, and reached over to touch the dressing on his wound. The angel’s breath hitched and he looked at Dean with wide eyes but didn’t move. “Clearly, you’re not healing. Why?”

“I—” Castiel’s hands gripped the cover on Dean’s bed, his knuckles turning white. “My wings. It’s because of my wings.”

Dean delicately pried off the gauze over the wound, glad to see the red skin around it had started to pale a little. The wound itself still bled from time to time, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t infected and it would close pretty soon.

“What about them?” he asked and changed the bandage into a fresh one.

Castiel exhaled. “Wings are a main source of… of our powers,” he said slowly. Dean noticed that his eyes were closed tightly and his face was pale and sweaty. He had given him a medicine a few hours ago, but it was probably wearing off now that he was awake again. “And mine are… in a very bad state.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Dean muttered and reached for the bowl. “Then, we gotta let them heal on their own. It’s just broken bones.”

Castiel didn’t respond, just opened his eyes and stared at the wall in front of him. Dean took the medicine bottle from his pocket and poured its contents into the soup.

“You really need to eat,” he said, and when the angel didn’t react, he added, “Castiel, turn around.”

The angel scowled at him but moved slowly. He sat up and leant with his healthy side on the wall, then moaned and closed his eyes when he had to carefully move his wings out of the way.

“Alright, here. It’s gonna make you feel better, I promise,” Dean said and passed the bowl to him. “Just drink it.”

Castiel lifted the bowl to his lips, but then stopped and looked up at Dean. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I know you must be starving and I really don’t want your stinking corpse on my bed—”

“No. Not the food. The… everything. Why… are you helping me?”

Dean frowned and closed his mouth. Castiel kept looking at him with suspicion and Dean realised he wouldn’t drink and go to sleep until Dean answered him.

“Because you need help,” he said with a sigh and went a few steps back to sit on Sam’s bed. “And that’s what I do. Me and my brother, Sam, we help people.”

“I’m not… people,” Castiel said hesitantly but started to sip the soup slowly. Dean counted it as a win.

“No, you’re not. Which is a bit unusual, but I’m trying not to dwell on that too much.” Dean rubbed a hand over his face. “Look, I kind of… witnessed what happened to you. In the forest. I saw some men… questioning you or something and I… I didn’t—”

“You saw it?” Castiel asked flatly.

“Yeah, and I didn’t do anything to help. And you didn’t, either; you didn’t fight, as far as I could see. And sure, I don’t know you, but you’re an angel, for God’s sake. And look what they did to you, whoever they were—”

“I didn’t know those men,” Castiel whispered, staring at his hands. “I don’t know anyone in this town, I wasn’t even planning on—”

“Alright, okay,” Dean interrupted, noticing the way the angel started to breath heavier. “Don’t strain yourself, buddy.”

“I’m fine,” he croaked.

“Okay. Just drink your soup and go to sleep.”

“You didn’t tell me—”

“I’m a hunter,” Dean said just to silence him, and Castiel looked up at him with surprised eyes. “Which means I hunt and kill monsters and other evil sons of bitches and also try to help people who usually pay me for that. Well, most of them are usually people.”

Castiel was still staring at him so Dean waved his hand to show him to finish his soup. He complied.

“Feeling any better?” Dean asked after a few moments of silence.

Castiel lowered the empty bowl and Dean stood up to take it from him.

“I’m… a little sleepy,” the angel murmured.

“That’s good. You need to rest. And tomorrow we’ll have to move you somewhere else.”

Castiel’s attention snapped back to him even though Dean could already notice the haziness in his blue eyes.

“Where am I going?”

“Just across the house, to my dad’s old room,” Dean explained. “My brother’s coming back tomorrow and I’m not sure what to tell him. Yet.”

“I can’t move—”

“I’ll help you,” Dean said. “Dad’s bed is bigger, you’re gonna be more comfortable there.”

Castiel’s eyes shut and Dean put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down to lie on his side again.

“Dean,” Castiel mumbled.

Dean’s hand stilled on the blanket he was trying to cover him with.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“You’re helping me because you’re a good man,” Castiel said. “And I thank you for that.”

Dean didn’t answer, just covered the angel with the blanket, took the empty bowl, and left the room, feeling a bit dizzy himself.

 

***

 

Moving a conscious angel proved a lot easier that moving an unconscious one, but Dean still wished he wouldn’t have to do that. And not only because it was awkward and uncomfortable and it left him a little breathless.

When Castiel was finally lying on John’s bed, he was paler than Dean had ever seen him, maybe except for when he had found him in the forest. He started to shake violently, the white gauze Dean had changed just an hour or so ago was turned bloody again. Dean cursed and rushed to the kitchen for a new bandage and more painkillers.

“Here, buddy, drink it,” he said quietly, bent down, and lifted the angel’s head as gently as possible.

Castiel moaned and his trembling fingers grabbed weakly at Dean’s sleeve, but he obediently swallowed the juice Dean put to his lips.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said with a sigh. “I’m not sure what else to do.” Castiel shook his head a little and tried to say something, but Dean hushed him. “Sleep now and I’ll think of something. I promise, alright? You’re gonna be fine. Some of the bones seem better already…”

Castiel whined and turned on his side, then curled in on himself and pushed his face into the pillow. Dean straightened up with a heavy heart.

“If you don’t get better soon,” he promised, “I will tell Sam. He’s the smart one, he’ll think of something.”

He stood still for a while, watching him, and then, when it seemed that the angel had fallen asleep, he left the room to get ready for his brother’s return.

 

***

 

Dean didn’t even have time to get happy when he saw his brother entering the house because Sam’s first words managed to make his blood run cold.

“When were you planning to tell me?” Sam asked, closed the doors after him, and threw his baggage onto the floor.

Dean froze on his way to greet him. “What?” he asked weakly.

“Did you even want to tell me at all?”

Dean opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again, too nervous to think clearly. “Of course I did! Dammit, Sam, who do you take me for? You’re my brother.”

“It didn’t stop you from keeping it a secret from me in the first place, did it?” Sam didn’t look angry, not really; he just sighed, rubbed his face, and sat down at the table.

Dean frowned and looked down on him, then put his hands on the table. “And when was I supposed to tell you?” he asked incredulously. “You were away, in case you didn’t notice—”

“You could have told me before I left, Dean,” Sam said in a tired voice. “I don’t understand why you always—”

“How was I supposed to tell you before?” Dean stared at him with wide eyes.

Sam raised his brows. “Just… tell me? I know you consider talking an out-dated way of—”

“But… there was nothing to tell!”

“Stop lying, Dean,” Sam bit. “I know you knew about it before I left, Bobby told me everything.”

Dean blinked. “But Bobby doesn’t know.”

“Yes, he does! Wake up, Dean!” Sam waved a hand in front of Dean’s face, but Dean batted it away. “He said he was the one that told you in the first place…”

“But Bobby doesn’t even know him—” Dean said, confused, and then he stopped abruptly. “Wait, what? What are you talking about?”

“What are _you_ talking about? Sam asked, looking at him funny, and Dean would laugh if he the situation wasn’t quite so serious. “Bobby doesn’t know _whom_?”

“I—” Dean shook his head. “You know what, forget it—”

“What have you done, Dean,” Sam almost growled.

“I—I will show you,” Dean muttered, deflating a bit. Maybe there was no sense in hiding it; Sam would probably find out sooner rather than later. Plus, he promised Castiel that he’d do everything, even if it included asking his younger brother for help. “I’ll show you. But first, tell me what _you_ were talking about.”

Sam looked at him strangely for a few seconds, then he inhaled and said, “Dad. I was talking about Dad. You said you’d heard from him, Dean. And now Bobby’s telling me he has no idea where Dad is. And apparently neither do you.”

Dean’s insides tightened unpleasantly and he ran a hand through his hair. He looked at Sam’s defensive posture and sat heavily on the chair across him.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he said, avoiding his eyes.

“And you think I’m less worried now?” Sam laughed bitterly. “Dean, where is Dad?”

Dean shrugged and tried not to let the familiar cold feeling creep into his chest again. “I don’t know, Sam. I haven’t heard from him in a few months, but I’m also sure he must be okay. He has to be. He’s Dad.”

Sam looked at him for a while, not saying anything, not even moving, and then he stood up rapidly.

“You’re right,” he said with certainty. “Let’s just… not talk about it now. What did you want to say to me?”

Dean knew it wasn’t the end of the discussion—it never was, not with a brother like Sam—but he stood up as well and gestured for Sam to follow him to their father’s room. Sam raised his eyebrows but complied, and then stopped in front of the door and looked quizzically at Dean, who stood motionless with his hand on the doorknob.

And then Dean opened the door.

 

***

 

If Dean had discovered that his brother, while he was away, had dragged a half-dead angel into their house, he would have probably thrown a fit, too.

But he still thought Sam exaggerated.

“What the hell, Dean,” Sam said after Dean had shown him their new guest and tried explaining the situation. “What were you even thinking?”

Dean blinked. “I told you, I—”

“Yeah, you saw an angel and you thought, ‘Oh well, I should take him home and take care of him’. So, let me ask again: what. The. Hell! He’s an angel, Dean.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Dean snorted. “Look, I couldn’t just leave him to die, could I?”

“You… you… what were you even doing there?”

“I told you, I was at the tavern with Charlie, the fight broke out, so we left and then—”

“And then you met him. And what, he was hurt so you just took him home? What are you, nine?” Sam wasn’t really shouting, but his voice sounded accusing enough for Dean to become defensive.

“You would have done the same,” he said and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked at the closed door to John’s room and hoped Castiel was asleep and didn’t have to listen to them arguing.

“Yeah, I’m not so sure about that,” Sam responded.

“And what happened to helping the others?”

“If he was human, then yeah, sure, no problem, but Dean—”

Dean stared at his brother. “He’s not really different from us, you know,” he bit. “And I didn’t know you of all people would discriminate—”

“That is not the point!” Sam raised his voice. “But we’re humans and he’s an angel! And we live so close to demons who already have enough reasons to hate us.”

“They hate everyone, Sam,” Dean said. “And we hate them back. As do angels, from what I’ve heard. They are our allies.”

“Not really, they’re not,” Sam protested. “They don’t care about us, they don’t even think about us… And they have no qualms about getting rid of us if we stand in their way of defeating demons.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “So now you agree with these morons from our town? You think maybe we should make angels our enemies, too, huh?”

“Dean, these people are right in some aspects. Angels did kill the whole freaking village. If that isn’t a proof that they’re not our friends, I don’t know what is.”

Dean gritted his teeth. Angels wiping out the whole village just because they had some information about important demon messengers hiding among people was a thorny issue for many people, even in their town. But both Dean and Sam, together with some of their closest friends, had always felt more isolated from ordinary people; maybe it was because of their profession which forced them to be more open-minded and less trustful, even—or especially—towards their own kind.

“So what,” Dean frowned, angry now, “you wanna hand the angel over to our precious people and let them finish the job? He’s still a wreck, it won’t even be too hard.”

Sam closed his mouth and sent Dean an irritated look.

Dean shrugged. “What? Is this what you suggest?” he asked.

“You know it isn’t,” Sam hissed. “But do you even know why they did this to him? Maybe he’s a… a spy, or something—”

“Sure, Sam, he’s spying on people to steal our pie recipes because they don’t have them in their holy angel cities,” Dean snorted. “I didn’t really have the occasion to ask him, as you may have noticed.”

“So you don’t know anything about him,” Sam said.

“I know he’s not a spy,” Dean answered. “Not one intended for humans, anyway. He said something about not knowing anyone in here, and that he had no idea why they attacked him.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. “I couldn’t recognise them. I’m not even sure they were locals. But they could be. I know there’re people in here that like to convince others to fight with everyone.”

“Okay, but tell me this, Dean. How do people even fight with angels? I mean, don’t they have some inhuman powers or something?”

Dean shrugged. “Well, there were three of them, at least. And Castiel said something about their wings holding most of their powers, so maybe they just surprised him and damaged his wings so they could—”

Dean bit his lips, remembered seeing the angel in the tavern, with a hood on his head. He was entirely certain there were no wings there; he must have had them hidden somehow. So how could people have attacked his wings only a few moments later if they were invisible?

He looked at Sam, saw a sign of contemplation on his face and decided to keep these thoughts to himself for now.

“Alright.” Sam sighed heavily. “One last thing.” Dean gestured for him to continue and Sam moved towards their dad’s room, with Dean at his heel. “What are we going to do with him?”

 

***

 

Dean entered the stable and, thanks to its small size, immediately spotted her standing by the manger. He hurried to her side, glad to finally see her again, even if it had only been a few days.

“Hey, Baby,” he cooed and slid his hand up her side, tangling his fingers in her black mane. Impala’s ears twitched, interested, and she nickered softly in greeting and stomped her hooves happily. “How are you, hm? Sam didn’t give you a hard time, did he? Look, I’ve got something for you.”

Dean took a small fresh carrot out of his trousers’ pocket and brought it to her muzzle; he smiled when he heard her quiet and happy neigh as she bit the vegetable eagerly. He looked her over, checking for anything that could be wrong with her after Sam’s journey, but she looked strong and healthy, if a bit dusty.

“Let’s clean you up a bit,” Dean said, reached for the brush, and started to swipe it down Impala’s side, evening out her hair and flicking away any dirt. Tending to his horse had always made him relax; now he forgot himself again, methodologically brushing and humming something under his breath.

He had left Sam in the house when he had felt he couldn’t take it anymore; his brother had still been a bit annoyed and righteously offended, but had gone into their dad’s room and started to check the angel’s injuries. Dean had watched for a while, worried that Castiel would wake up and freak out upon seeing Sam, but then, when it’d seemed that Castiel was completely passed out, Dean had left to get some fresh air and clear his head.

Dean took a moment to stroke Impala’s head and brush her long mane with his fingers; he even pressed his forehead into her long neck, sighed, and breathed in her strong smell.

“So, what do you think,” he murmured. “You think he’s gonna kill us in our sleep?” He imagined the angel stalking up to their room at night, with glowing blue eyes and a big knife in his hand. He scoffed. “Nah, impossible. He can’t even sit up straight. I’d sooner bet on Sam suffocating me with my pillow, he’s pretty pissed at me. Which is stupid, isn’t it? I saved someone’s life and Sam’s pissed because he thinks Castiel’s evil. He can’t be evil, right?”

Impala looked at him as if he had said something impossibly stupid and he chuckled.

“Right. You’ve never met him so you probably can’t tell. Well, then, let’s say that when I introduce you two, you bite him in the ass if you think he’s shady, okay? We have a deal, Baby?”

Impala neighed and shook her head, bumping him with her nose on the shoulder. Dean smiled, kissed her on the neck, and left the stable.

When he entered the house, it turned out Sam wasn’t angry anymore.

“Dean, his wings are completely wrecked,” he said the second he saw Dean. “I’m not even sure they _can_ heal. I don’t know much about it, obviously, but I found this old book in Dad’s room, look, and it’s about birds but—”

“I knew you’d get overexcited once you forgot to be mad at me,” Dean said, smirking, and he joined his brother at the table.

“I wasn’t mad,” Sam said and sent him an affronted look. “Worried, yes, but…” He sighed and closed the book he was holding, and then looked at Dean with big puppy dog eyes.

Dean blinked. “But what?” he prompted.

“You did the right thing,” Sam answered earnestly and Dean averted his eyes and kicked him under the table, embarrassed.

“Shut up,” he muttered. “You’d do the same.”

Sam just kept looking at him as if he was about to confess his undying love to him, so Dean scoffed and got up.

“So. Uh. What were you saying about his wings?”

The soft look on Sam’s face disappeared, replaced by the one of concern. “As I said, his state is quite… terrible, to be honest. You said the power is kept in his wings, so if they’re damaged this bad, he won’t be able to heal them. And I’m afraid it’ll be a long time before they are okay again… A very, very long time. And… I don’t think we can risk it.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can’t we… I don’t know. Maybe we can wait just for a bit, and once he can at least move on his own without passing out, we will tell him to go. If we let him out now, he will have no chance when they attack him—and they will, I’m sure of it.”

“If they find out he’s here, they’ll attack him, too. And they’ll be pissed at us.”

“Well, Sammy, I think we can manage a few angry peasants.”

“I’d rather not risk it.”

Dean frowned and scowled at him. “So you are actually suggesting we throw him out now,” he said in a low voice.

“No,” Sam answered. “I’m suggesting we try something else to help him heal.”

 

***

 

This time, when he woke in the middle of the night, he knew exactly what was going on.

He sprinted out of bed, noticing Sam’s empty one in the corner of his eye, and rushed to the room across from their own.

His brother hovered in the middle of the bedroom, visibly unsure of what to do with the angel curled on the bed. Castiel was on his knees, bent in half, his face hidden in the blanket and his wide wings were outstretched in the air, trembling violently. His prolonged sobbing was every now and then interrupted by short and loud screams, simultaneous with the sickening sounds of the cracking bones.

“What the hell is happening,” Dean panted, staring at the angel with wide eyes.

“The spell has started to work, I think,” Sam answered and glanced at him, face pale.

“You _think_?” Dean bit. “God, is there anything we can do? How can we—”

“Dean, he’s healing, we can’t stop it,” Sam said, but his voice was muted by Castiel’s scream. “Not now.”

Dean couldn’t stop looking at Castiel; unconsciously, he took a few small steps in his direction. They had given him the potion they’d bought from the city healer, Missouri, but up until now Dean hadn’t really believed it would work.

Apparently, he had been wrong.

When Castiel tried to push himself up on his arms and failed, almost falling off the bed in consequence, Dean jumped to him and caught his arms. He avoided looking at his wings, afraid he would get sick when he saw magically mending bones; the mere sounds were so horrible he could barely stand it.

“How long will it take?” he asked and looked back at Sam while Castiel gripped his arms so tightly Dean could feel his blood flow cutting off.

“No idea,” Sam said, scared.

Castiel fell onto his stomach, his hands still clutching at Dean’s arms and wrists, so Dean kneeled by the bed and let him, and then looked at Sam over his shoulder.

“Just bring me some water. And a towel,” he growled. “I won’t be able to sleep with these noises anyway.”

 

***

 

There were red marks on his wrists where Castiel had held him last night. Dean stared at them, unblinkingly, during breakfast, until Sam coughed awkwardly and brought his attention to himself.

“Have you checked on him today?” Sam asked, his voice worried and, for some reason, slightly uncomfortable.

“Yeah.” Dean chewed on the bread and watched his brother drink some awful herbal crap he loved so much. “Went there after I woke up. He was still sleeping.”

“You’re sure he was _sleeping_ , yes?” Sam asked slowly.

Dean scowled at him. “Yes, Sam, I’m sure he was sleeping. I would notice if he was dead, alright?”

Sam visibly relaxed, but chose to ignore his words and instead asked, “How does he look?”

“Go see for yourself,” Dean grumbled.

“Uh. I can’t. I need to… go to the market today. Buy supplies. Check the town.”

“No, you don’t need to. You just don’t want to be left with him, so you run away.”

“I don’t—uh. Just. You know him, he’ll listen to you when you tell him he has to go.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “I won’t tell him that if he’s not ready,” he said harshly.

“Dean—”

“No, Sam. Sorry. You don’t want to do that, either, so you wanna leave me here with him. But that’s fine. I can manage. But I’m not gonna kick him out until he’s back on his own two feet. And his own two wings.”

“I’m sure the potion has worked,” Sam said and looked away guiltily.

“We’ll see.”

Sam sighed. “Dean, don’t get me wrong. I _do_ want to help him, just like you. I’m just worried it won’t end well.”

“No one has to know about him.”

“But we’re not hermits, Dean. We need to go out, otherwise people will begin to suspect something. And what if someone wants to pay us a visit and we’re hiding an angel under our roof?”

“Then I guess it’s good we live far from the town and from everyone else. And that no one really visits us, like, ever,” Dean said. He finished his breakfast and stood up, then rubbed his face with his hands. After sitting by the angel’s bed for almost half of the night, he was still tired and half-asleep. “We’ll think of something, Sam,” he said. “We always do.”

“Yeah, alright,” Sam said with a short nod. “Guess you’ll just have to stop bringing your guests over for the night.” He smirked.

Dean hit him in the head. “Shut up, bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam said and tried—but failed—to kick him in the leg while crossing the room.

“Buy me some alcohol when you’re out,” Dean said, then left him in the kitchen and entered his dad’s bedroom.

The old curtains in the windows made the room darker than the rest of the house so Dean needed a few seconds to let his eyes get used to it, but then he noticed Castiel sitting up on the bed, with his knees brought up to his chest, staring at the window. He moved when he heard Dean, though, and looked at him.

“Hey,” Dean greeted, still frozen by the door. The angel didn’t move, just kept looking at him. Dean noticed his wings were now folded neatly behind his back. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m alive,” Castiel croaked and looked back at the window.

“What about your wings? Feeling any better?”

“I’m… not sure yet.”

Finally, Dean moved and sat on the far end of the bed. Castiel’s attention snapped back to him again and he tilted his head. Dean cleared his throat.

“Is the spell still working?” he asked, uncertain.

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “Do you hear me screaming out in pain?” he asked ironically and Dean frowned. “No, the spell is over. I believe the bones in my wings are healed now, as was probably your wish.”

Dean blinked. “Oh. Does that mean you’re completely healthy now?”

“As I said, I’m not sure. I… don’t really feel well. I’m not in pain, that’s true, and I can even move again, but… I don’t know.”

“It’s good, though, right?” Dean asked, and when Castiel looked at him grumpily, he swallowed but continued. “I mean, it’s good you’re finally conscious and all.”

The angel didn’t respond; instead, he looked Dean straight in the eyes and asked, “That magic… where did it come from?”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s this woman in our town, Missouri. She’s my dad’s old friend and she’s supposed to know a thing or two about spells and potions.”

“A thing or two,” Castiel repeated wryly.

“Well, yeah. I wouldn’t call her a witch, you know. More like a… druid. Or a medium of some kind. My dad always trusted her.”

“Do _you_?” Castiel asked.

Dean felt weird under his constant scrutiny and he looked away, uncomfortable. “Dunno. But you weren’t healing and Sam suggested getting some help.”

“So you decided to ‘get some help’ from some peasant woman who is ‘supposed’ to know ‘a thing or two’ about magic?” Castiel asked, and Dean would comment on the way he started to overuse quotation marks if he didn’t notice the angel’s angry tone.

“It worked, didn’t it? If it wasn’t for Missouri, you’d probably be dead by now.”

“You don’t know that,” Castiel hissed.

Dean stood up and looked at the angel with a frown. “Am I missing something here? Are you actually trying to say we shouldn’t have helped you?”

Castiel lifted his head to stare at him. “If I knew you wanted to help me using a completely unknown magic spell which could probably interfere with my own powers, I would have probably asked you to kill me instead,” he answered.

“What do you mean, interfere with your powers?” Dean asked, surprised.

Suddenly, Castiel moved, got off the bed, and stood in front of Dean for the first time since the beginning of their short acquaintanceship. Standing straight, he was almost the same height as Dean, with broad shoulders, visible even beneath Dean’s old clothes. He still looked pale and a bit wobbly, but Dean could see the real strength lurking in the muscles of his arms and chest, and he took a small step back. Castiel kept looking at him and then his wings spread out behind his back, amazingly wide and dark, although still with numerous missing or skewed feathers.

Dean took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds.

“Your unknown magic healed my bones,” Castiel said darkly, “which means I should now be able to have access to my powers again. But I don’t.”

“You… don’t?” Dean asked, uncertain.

Castiel’s wings rustled and he took one more step in Dean’s direction. “No, Dean. I don’t have my powers. They’re gone, almost to the last drop.”

Dean gulped. “Almost,” he emphasised.

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel said flatly and Dean felt a cold spark run down his spine at the tone he used to call him by his name. “It seems something is limiting my powers almost completely, and there is only one thing that could have caused that.”

“Hey, “ Dean started. “We were just trying to help—”

“By using a spell of an unknown source?” Castiel barked.

“Well, I’m sorry we don’t have a ‘How to heal angel wings’ manual on hand!” Dean responded defensively. “Maybe you don’t know that, but you happen to be the first angel I’ve had the dubious pleasure to meet. And you didn’t give us any advice on how to help—”

“As you so kindly pointed out, I’ve spent the last few days unconscious. And why help me in the first place if you don’t even know what you’re doing?”

“Was I supposed to just leave you there to die?” Dean asked incredulously.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Castiel hissed.

Dean blinked and wondered for a split second if maybe Sam had been right: maybe angels were their enemies and now came the time to face a furious representative of the species. But he didn’t back out, just straightened up to be taller than Castiel, and stared back at him stubbornly.

At least he would die with his head up.

But Castiel didn’t kill him, nor did he move to attack him in any way. Instead, he sighed and seemed to slump back a bit, then dropped his gaze and let his wings fold behind his back with a soft rustle of feathers.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered so quietly that Dean wasn’t sure he heard him right. “You only tried to help.”

“…that’s what I was trying to say,” Dean snapped.

Castiel looked up at him, still standing a little too close for comfort for Dean. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, louder this time.

Dean breathed out. “No problem, I guess,” he said.

Castiel’s eyes stayed on him, but now they were less angry and more tired. Dean tried to keep his face straight, even if his insides clenched at the sight of the poor guy.

“Do you… do you really have no powers? None?” he asked.

“I feel like they’re fading. There’s not even enough left to heal my other wounds, not to mention fighting or flying.”

“You—you can fly?” Dean gasped.

“Not presently.” Castiel smiled tightly.

Dean exhaled and rubbed his face with his hand. “Uh, buddy, I—I didn’t know, I swear. Sam didn’t, either.”

“I know.”

“We wouldn’t have—We’d have thought of something else if we—”

“I know, Dean.” Castiel turned away and sat on the bed, then looked down at his hands. “The blame doesn’t lie with you, and it probably doesn’t lie with your friend, Missouri, either. She couldn’t have known. We mostly keep to ourselves and not many people know much about us and our powers.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “You’re quite enigmatic, I must say.”

The corner of Castiel’s lips curled up in a small smile. “You did everything you could. And you saved me. You saved my life, Dean,” he said and he looked up. “And I am forever grateful for that.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Sorry for messing with your wings, though,” he said, awkwardly.

Castiel didn’t respond, just sighed and looked out the window. “I am tired,” he said quietly. “And I’m still very weak. Can you…” He paused and glanced at Dean, uncertain. “Do you think you could let me stay here for a little bit longer? I know I am an inconvenience. I know your brother thinks I am dangerous.” Dean tried to protest, but Castiel lifted his hand. “But I can promise you I have no quarrel with humans. I need a few more days to recover and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Stay here for as long as you want,” Dean responded.

Castiel stared at him for a while, as if trying to judge his honesty, and then he nodded and lay on the bed carefully.

“Do you need anything?” Dean asked quietly.

In response, Castiel rolled onto his side, facing the wall, and covered his body with his black wings.

Dean left the room and closed the door behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam only needed to look at Dean once to know something had happened.

“What?” he asked and closed the book he’d been reading.

Dean slammed the door and entered the house. “So I went into town,” he started.

“Yeah, I know,” Sam said. “What happened? Has someone found out about the angel? Has someone seen him?”

Dean flopped onto the vacant chair. “What? No. It’s not about Castiel. No one knows anything, how could they?” When Sam still looked uncertain, he sighed and continued. “I wanted to find us a job. It’s been a while since that last manticore and we’re kind of running out of money.”

Sam pursed his lips. “I know.”

“We both know. Money’s been tight for some time now—”

“And you know very well what I think about that.”

Dean glared at him. “Yes, Sam, you don’t need to remind me.”

The argument of whether to stay in the town or start travelling and hunting again was an old one and it kept re-emerging sometimes during their conversations. Dean loved being on the road and in the saddle, he did; but he felt that they had the responsibility to stay in their home and wait for their father to come back. They’d been living here for their whole lives, with several instances of being away for longer than a few weeks. They had friends here, good friends, almost like a family.

But Sam was different. He wasn’t as attached to their town as Dean was, he longed for something that he believed waited for him somewhere in the world. He loved big cities, he loved erudite people, and their town obviously wasn’t enough. Sometimes Dean doubted Sam even wanted to continue being a hunter and carrying on the Winchester legacy. He didn’t resent him for that, though; he knew Sam was destined to achieve something bigger, to become someone important, to start a family. But he also knew he himself would never end up like that, so he kept on clinging to Sam and keeping him in this life, and he was stubborn enough to do this for as long as he possibly could.

“Anyway,” Dean continued because he didn’t want to hear other arguments from Sam suggesting they move out. “I went into town, I asked around. Guess what I found.”

“Another old house that is supposed to be haunted?” Sam asked.

“If only.” Dean scoffed. “In that case, we could at least go there and check it. But no. Some old lady asked me to rescue her cat from a tree. A _cat_ , Sam.”

Sam huffed a laugh but stopped when he noticed Dean’s glare. “Uhm. Oh. That’s… interesting.”

“That is not _interesting_ ,” Dean hissed. “Sam, we’re hunters, not pet rescuers. This is getting ridiculous.”

“I told you there are no monsters left here,” Sam said and rolled his eyes. “We’re not needed any longer.”

“Bullshit. Monsters are everywhere. It’s the people, Sam. They don’t treat us seriously anymore.”

Sam looked at him for a few moments. “So what are you going to do about it?”

Dean shrugged. “Nothing. We just need to take a trip somewhere else. I’m sure we’ll find something there.”

“Or we can just move out to another city,” Sam said and Dean felt his fists clench involuntarily. “People in cities will pay great sums for the smallest tasks—”

“We can’t move out,” Dean said through gritted teeth.

“Why not?” Sam dared and looked him straight in the eyes. “Oh, because we’re waiting for Dad? But wait, I thought he was missing.”

Dean looked daggers at his brother. “He’s not _missing_.”

“So where is he?”

“He’ll be back.”

“That’s not what I asked. Come on, Dean. We can’t wait for the man forever! Especially if we have no idea if he’ll even come back at all.”

Dean stood up abruptly and crossed his arms over his chest. “Shut up. Of course he will. He always does.”

“He’s never been gone for so long!” Sam stood up, too.

“So what?” Dean turned to him. “Maybe he finally caught the scent of that son of a bitch that killed Mom! Or maybe he’s just hunting—something _we_ should be doing, by the way.”

“Or maybe he’s not.”

“Fuck, Sam, stop talking about him like he’s already dead,” Dean barked out.

“Well, we don’t know that he’s not!”

“I don’t care,” Dean hissed, walked to his brother, and stared up at him. “Just stop. We’re not leaving.”

“Whatever,” Sam muttered, frowning angrily at him. “But next time, don’t bitch that we have nothing to do here. It’s your own fault you don’t wanna do anything about it.”

Dean wanted to respond, but he found himself at a loss for words, so instead he just glared at Sam for a few more seconds and stormed out of the house.

He had planned to go to the stable—which was his usual place for calming down after conversations like that—but when he was reaching for the doors, he heard something move between the trees near their property. He cast a nervous glance around and, when he didn’t notice anyone, he took the narrow path leading to the woods.

At first he was sure he must have imagined everything; the woods seemed quiet and peaceful, with warm golden rays of sunshine seeping through the leaves and the soft buzz of summer insects ringing in his ears. But then, when he started to turn away, he spotted someone sitting at the old fallen trunk and his heart stopped for a split second.

“Oh my God,” he muttered and took a few more steps ahead. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Castiel lifted his head and looked up at him, squinting against the light. He seemed surprised but not scared. “Hello, Dean,” he said.

Dean stopped right in front of him. “What—why are you here?” he demanded.

“I needed to go out,” Castiel said. “I wanted to get some fresh air.”

“But—you—”

“I’m fine,” he said and sent him the smallest of smiles. “The wound seems to have stopped bleeding and I’m not that weak anymore. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Dean stared at him for a few seconds, without saying anything, Then, suddenly, he noticed his wings.

Or, rather, he didn’t notice them. They were gone.

His eyes widened. “Where the hell are your wings?” he asked.

Castiel shifted in his seat and looked around, over his shoulders, at the empty space where his wings should be visible. “They’re here,” he said calmly and then glanced at Dean. “You just can’t see them.”

“How?”

“I told you I had some of my powers left. It’s not much, but I was able to hide my wings. I’m much more comfortable without them, as you can probably imagine, and if someone was to see me now, they wouldn’t be able to recognise me as an angel, at least not right away.”

“But… where did you hide them?” Dean stepped forward and, without thinking, he waved a hand in the empty air by Castiel’s shoulders, earning himself a half-amused smile, but he felt nothing. “What is it, some kind of illusion?”

“No,” Castiel said. “But we’re able to hide them in another plane of existence. They’re still there if I need them, but they can remain incorporeal so that they do not pose as an inconvenience.”

“I’m not sure I understand half of the words you just said to me,” Dean said and stared blankly at the angel.

“Let’s just say they’re not in this world.”

Dean blinked, then blinked again. “What do you mean—”

“You can’t see them because you’re only a human,” Castiel said and rolled his eyes. “You don’t have magic. You don’t have powers. For you, this is the only world. But some creatures can see more. My wings are now somewhere where your sight does not reach.”

Dean rubbed his chin and looked tiredly at the angel sitting in front of him. “Okay, you know what? Whatever. You have wings, you don’t have wings, I don’t care,” he said. “Question is: why did you leave the house?”

“I already told you,” Castiel responded, “I wanted to get some—”

“But someone could have seen you,” Dean interrupted.

Castiel stared up at him and answered earnestly, “But no one did.”

“And what if they did? What would you do if someone recognised you?”

“They wouldn’t,” Castiel said. “No one in your town knows me. I don’t know anyone, either. Without my wings, I’m a complete stranger.”

“Exactly.” Dean frowned, annoyed. If Sam discovered that the angel had started roaming the woods around their house, risking his and their lives, he would get even more doubtful. “They’d notice you immediately just because you’re a stranger. And what about the people who injured you? You think they wouldn’t recognise you either?”

Castiel’s gaze hardened. “I would like to meet them. I would like to show them I’m still alive and—”

Dean huffed a humourless laugh. “And what? You said it yourself, you can’t even fight. They’d seize you again and this time you wouldn’t make it out alive.”

Castiel stood up suddenly and, because Dean had no time to back away, for a few moments they stood within inches of each other, with Castiel’s wide blue eyes boring into Dean’s.

“Whoa,” Dean breathed out and stepped back.

“Dean, those men attacked me when I was most vulnerable, they hurt me, they injured my wings, and indirectly contributed to the loss of my powers. I didn’t even know them. They asked questions I couldn’t answer. They didn’t listen. They left me there, half-dead, only because they heard you, otherwise I would probably be dead now.”

“What questions?” Dean asked, surprised.

Castiel dropped his gaze. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I am not going to hide only because some of your people decided it would be a good idea to catch themselves an angel and—”

“Whoa, what? _My_ people? They’re not my people!”

“You’re a human. They’re humans. This is your town. They are your people.”

“Dude, something’s not right with your logic.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes and approached him, once again reducing the distance between them. “I am an angel. I will not be confined to the caprices of humans. I can walk wherever and whenever I want.”

Dean raised both of his hands. “Okay. Alright. Whatever you say. You’re better than us and we’re not even fit to be dust on your shoes,” he mocked and earned himself a deadly glare from Castiel. “But I’m serious. You can’t be here. I didn’t save your sorry ass just so you could go out and get yourself killed.”

“You don’t get to say where—”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Dean groaned and caught the angel by his elbow. “I don’t care. We’re going home, _now_.”

Castiel tried to struggle, but Dean only tightened his grip and started to drag him through the trees.

“You may be all mighty and strong as an angel, but right now you’re just like us, petty humans. Or worse, actually,” he added, glanced at Castiel over his shoulder, and gave him a onceover. “I bet I could kick your ass right now.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Castiel hissed.

“Oh, yeah, I would. If you don’t stop being an idiot, I won’t even care if you’re injured.”

Castiel tried to free his arm one more time, but Dean knew he was still too weak.

“I’ll just leave,” the angel threatened.

“Be my guest. I’m not keeping you here.”

“You’re not? And what do you call this?” He yanked his arm.

Dean stopped, turned around, and came face to face with him. “Okay, asshole, you need to listen to me and get something very important into that feathery head of yours. Me and my brother, we’re letting you stay in our house to get better and we’re risking our asses. People here don’t like you and your kind. That’s probably why they attacked you, but, as I said, I don’t care and I’ve got nothing against you as long as you behave. But the minute someone learns we’re hiding a fucking angel in our house, we’re done, they kick us out, we lose our job and probably our house.”

Castiel’s gaze didn’t falter, but he stopped looking as if he was about to smite the living daylights out of Dean. Instead, his face softened a bit and he almost looked apologetic. Almost.

“So if you wanna leave, go ahead,” Dean continued. “Just don’t go strolling through the town and boasting you’re alive and well, because someone will notice.”

“I wasn’t ‘strolling through the town’,” Castiel mimicked him and used his free hand to make air quotes again. “There was no one in those woods.”

“Not today,” Dean said. “But people do go there.”

Castiel made a face. “I don’t want to sit all day in that empty room,” he complained.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Gee, we let you stay in our house and you’re still choosy? You can sit with us in the kitchen, if you really want.”

“I need fresh air. I need the sun and nature.”

“You can look through the windows.”

Castiel’s eyes hardened again. “It sounds as if I was your prisoner.”

Dean shrugged. “You kind of are. Just get on with the healing and then you can go wherever you want.”

Castiel scowled and stared at Dean’s hand, which still gripped his elbow. Then he lifted his head and looked at something behind Dean. His eyes lit up.

“What’s this?”

Dean glanced over his shoulder and blinked. “What, you mean the stable?”

Castiel nodded slowly.

“That’s our stable. You do know what a horse is, right?”

Castiel nodded again, a small smile spreading on his face.

“What?” Dean asked, suspicious.

“Do you let strangers into your stable?” Castiel asked.

“Uh, no. Of course not.”

“So, if I was to spend my time there, no one would see me, apart from you and your brother?”

Dean frowned. “Why do you want to spend your time in our stable?”

“Because anything’s better than sitting all day in one place and waiting for my powers to come back,” the angel muttered. “Dean, I know I’ve put you in an uncomfortable position and I don’t want to endanger you. But I can’t stand being so idle.”

Dean sighed, rubbed his face, and raised his eyes upwards. Then he sighed again. “Fine. But you have to be careful. I’ll kill you if someone sees you. Sam’ll kill you, too.”

“Yes, and the town people, as well,” Castiel teased and jerked his arm gently. “So? Can I see your horses?”

“We only have one horse,” Dean said, but he could already feel himself begin to smile. He released the angel’s elbow and, seeing he didn’t try to run away, led him inside the stable.

Impala noticed them immediately. Dean watched her closely, looking for any signs of distrust towards the angel. Her ears moved forward, listening intently to their steps, and then she moved her head to look at them.

“Oh,” Castiel said. “She’s beautiful.”

Dean felt a warm sparkle in his chest, part of which was pride, and part fondness towards the angel for recognising Impala for what she was.

“Yeah, she is. She used to belong to my dad, but he gave her to me when I came of age,” he said and moved closer to stroke the horse’s side.

“What’s her name?” Castiel asked. Dean noticed he kept looking at her but didn’t make any movement to touch her yet. Impala stared back at him and snorted softly, her ears twitching. She didn’t look alarmed, but she wasn’t entirely calm, either.

“Impala,” he said, combed her mane, and glanced between them. “Baby, this is Castiel.”

The horse nickered and stomped her feet, then moved a bit closer to Castiel. Dean watched as the angel reached out and gently touched her nose. Impala stepped away, still staring unblinkingly, and then moved back and put her muzzle into his open hand. Needless to say, she didn’t try biting him in any part of his body and Dean felt himself relax just a fraction.

“Does she—does she know you’re an angel?” he asked, uncertain.

Castiel’s gaze didn’t leave the horse, but the corners of his lips curled upwards. “Yes, I think she does. Or at least she can sense I’m not like other people.”

“Well, you’re _not_ like other people,” Dean said teasingly and eyed him for a moment. “Listen, Castiel. You—you’re not—I mean. I don’t really know you.”

Castiel, still looking only at Impala, sighed softly. “You don’t trust me.”

“Would you? Man, I found you in the forest, I’ve known you for what? Five days? Plus, you’re an angel.”

“I told you I’m not your enemy, Dean.”

“And how can I be sure you were telling the truth?” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “At least you’re not a demon, but still. People and angels? Not the best of friends recently.”

Castiel turned his head to look at him. “I’ve noticed. But I didn’t do anything to earn your distrust.”

“You didn’t really do anything to earn my trust, either,” Dean said. “And you didn’t really have many opportunities, what with being half dead and having no powers to smite me.”

“I still have no powers,” Castiel reminded him and sent him a gloomy look. “I understand your doubts, Dean, but you saved my life. I do not, and will not, want to ‘smite’ you. You have my word.”

Dean cleared his throat. “I… thanks? But I still don’t feel comfortable leaving you here alone with my horse.”

“I wouldn’t hurt your horse.”

“No, but you could steal her and bolt.”

“As far as I remember, I was the one who asked you if I could stay here,” Castiel said in a dull voice. “I really can’t see why I would want to run away with your horse.”

Dean let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay. Whatever. Listen, I get it, you don’t wanna stay locked up in your—Dad’s—room for so long. But that’s not my fault, is it?” Dean looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Just start healing, then you can leave. I’m not gonna keep you here and I’m not gonna kick you out. You’re here because you wanted to stay, so you gotta deal with it now.”

Castiel stared at him for a while, then gently patted Impala’s back. “I see.”

“I could… I mean, when I’m not busy, I could always take you here. And feel free to get out of the room, just come out and talk with us or something. As you said, we saved you, so maybe you can pay us back somehow, I don’t know… Do you cook?”

Castiel blinked. “Not really.”

“Great.” Dean rolled his eyes. “But yeah. There are books in our house. Read them all, if you must. Just don’t leave the house.”

“So we’re back to me being your prisoner,” Castiel grunted.

Dean raised his hand and patted the angel’s shoulder lightly. “Believe me, it’s for your own good.”

 

***

 

“Dean.”

Dean hummed but didn’t look away from the fish he was cutting. The grease on the pan had already begun to drizzle and he still wanted to dip the fish in batter. Not to mention that he was supposed to check on the potatoes five minutes ago.

“Dean, are you listening to me?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, what?”

His brother stood by his side at the table and stared at his face for so long, Dean finally lifted his gaze.

“What do you want?”

“I—just talked with Castiel,” Sam said slowly.

Dean frowned. “Alright… ominous,” he said, and then narrowed his eyes. “Hey, weren’t you supposed to take him to the stable for some time?”

“I did,” Sam said, “but then—”

“So where is he?” Dean asked and looked around as if Castiel was lurking in some dark corner of the room. “Dude, did you leave him there alone with Baby?”

“Yeah, but Dean—”

“Sam, there’s a reason we don’t leave him alone!” Dean wiped his hands on his shirt and glared at his brother. “You were the one who insisted he’s not our friend, so why would you—”

“Castiel is Michael’s brother!” Sam interrupted.

Dean closed his mouth, his eyes opened wide.

Sam nodded. “I just learned they’re related. We started talking, just a bit, because it was really awkward to just stand and watch him sit there, and—”

“And you left him there with my horse?” Dean repeated, pushed past Sam, and ran to the stable.

Castiel was still there, sitting on the small pile of hay and murmuring something to Impala. When he heard Dean, he lifted his head.

“So,” Dean said, panting.

Castiel squinted but didn’t say anything.

“Michael,” Dean said and kept watching the angel, the way his shoulders tensed and his gaze hardened. He still didn’t respond or move. “Why didn’t you tell us you’re his brother?”

“Why would I?” Castiel finally spoke. “I have many siblings. I don’t understand why that would be of any importance to you.”

“Why?” Dean stared at him. “Why? Well, maybe because it’s freaking _Michael_?”

“I gather you somehow know my brother,” Castiel said and stood up.

“You kidding? Everyone knows Michael. He’s kind of the reason why we don’t like you guys.”

“I don’t understand.”

Dean blinked. “What do you mean, you don’t understand?”

Castiel took a step in his direction. “I don’t understand your reaction. I also don’t understand why you, people, take such an interest in my brother.”

“People? What people?”

Castiel pressed his lips together and looked away.

Dean felt his heart quicken its pace. “Castiel. Who did you talk to?”

“No one,” Castiel answered.

“You son of a bitch, I swear to God, if you—”

“I didn’t talk to anyone,” Castiel assured him, his voice tight and cold. “Just you. You don’t have to trust me, Dean, but I did what you asked me and I stayed in hiding.”

“So, who else asked you about your brother?”

“When… when they attacked me,” Castiel started, “they wanted to know where my brother was. It seemed this was their main reason for the assault. But I didn’t tell them anything because I haven’t seen Michael in a few months.”

Dean took a step back. “They attacked you because they knew you were Michael’s brother.”

“I had an army,” Castiel continued. “I was a commander of my garrison, sent out to—to find someone important. We were attacked all of a sudden—resting, unprepared, confused. They… they had something, they used it to weaken us, to expose our wings. I was… rendered unconscious, and when I woke up, they were gone and all of my soldiers were dead. They were my friends and I—”

Dean wanted to ask about Michael again, but his throat felt too dry all of a sudden, so he kept quiet. Castiel took a few calming breaths and then went on, staring at something just above Dean’s shoulder.

“I needed to get back to my city, but I had nothing—they took our horses, our baggage, our provisions. I found out I was only a few miles from a town. From your town.” Castiel looked at Dean and he kept his gaze. “I wanted to purchase just the most important things, but everything happened so fast. The man I was talking to in the tavern led me outside. Those men were waiting on me there. I lost consciousness again, they dragged me somewhere more private to… confront me and… You know the rest of the story.”

Dean stayed quiet for a few moments and watched Castiel sigh and sit back on the hay; then he took a deep breath and asked, “And they wanted to know where your brother was?”

Castiel nodded.

“Do you know why?”

Castiel lifted his head to look at him. “I imagine he’d done something that angered them,” he said quietly.

Dean couldn’t help it and he snorted inelegantly. “Yeah, you could say so.”

Castiel sat straighter and stared at him. “Dean?”

“You really don’t know anything, do you?” Dean asked. Castiel narrowed his eyes and moved to stand up, but Dean walked over and simply sat by his side. “Cas, a few months ago your brother wiped out the entire human village because he was sure there were some demons hiding among the people there. Or so they said.”

Dean watched all colour drain from Castiel’s face.

“What?” he croaked.

“Yeah. Many innocent people died, all because of your brother’s delusions. Some people from our town have lost their loved ones and there’s no denying they were pissed. They still are. You really had no idea?”

“I haven’t seen Michael in several months,” he muttered, his stare blank and his hands tightened on his knees.

“Yeah, you already… Uh. I guess that’s some terrible news, isn’t it.” Dean chuckled nervously.

Castiel’s gaze finally focused on him. “I didn’t think my brother would be capable of such actions,” he stated calmly. “He is a fierce warrior and he wants what is the best for us and for the country—”

“You mean _your_ country? What you guys do isn’t really in our best interests…”

“We want to end the war with demons,” Castiel said. “I believe it would be beneficial for you, humans, as well.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, whatever.”

Castiel looked for him for several more seconds and then slumped a bit, his head hanging low. “I understand now. People want revenge and I was the closest to give it to them.”

“But you said they wanted to find Michael. They asked you questions. How did they know you were his brother? I heard about Michael but didn’t know anything about his family.”

“They must have had some information,” Castiel mused. “That’s how they knew how to attack us. Someone must have given them those spells to use against us.”

“But who?” Dean asked.

Castiel sat up straight. “I don’t know. But I will find out.” Then he glanced at Dean and licked his lips, uncertain again. “I can leave if you want me to.”

“What? Why?”

“I understand now why you hate angels so much,” Castiel said quietly.

“I don’t—”

“My earlier promise stands. I don’t want to endanger you and your brother. You saved my life.”

Dean sighed, exasperated, and thought that if he heard that phrase one more time, he’d punch something. Or someone.

“Cas, stop—”

“Dean.” Castiel’s eyes bored into Dean’s and Dean froze. “I mean it. I know your brother is very angry with me, and so would other people if they found out I was here.”

“Nothing’s changed, Cas,” Dean barked out. “So you guys are assholes. I already knew that.” Castiel looked as if he wanted to protest, but Dean didn’t let him. “But if what you’re saying is true, you’re probably less of an asshole than the rest of your kind. And, you know, I keep my promises, too. You can stay here,” he said slowly, making sure Castiel understood his every word, “until you’re healed.”

“That might take a long time, without my wings I’m—”

“Then let’s just wait a few more days until you get your strength back. Maybe some of your powers will come back, too.”

Castiel nodded, his face serious. “And if not, I must find my brother. He will know what to do.” When Dean didn’t answer, he added, “I also want to talk with him about his political decisions.”

Dean huffed and stood up. Impala, who stayed mostly quiet during their conversation, neighed at him and moved her ears eagerly. Dean waved at her.

“Not today, Baby,” he said and then looked at the angel, still sitting on the pile of hay. “Do you want some fish?”

 

***

 

Dean was mindlessly flipping through the book Sam had left on the table before he left, when he heard a knock. Frowning, he got up to open the front door.

“Dean Winchester,” said Gordon Walker, standing at the steps with three more men. Dean didn’t remember their names, but he knew their faces—all of them were quite frequent visitors of Benny’s tavern.

“Hey, fellas,” Dean said. The men grinned at him and he smiled back easily. “What can I do for you?” he asked and leant on the door frame. Usually, visits like that one meant a hunt, and a hunt meant money. He could already feel his fingers twitch at the idea of going after something.

“You know, Winchester,” Gordon drawled and gestured at his companions, “me ‘n my friends, we’re tryin’ to find somethin’ and we figured we could use your help.”

Dean smiled wider. “Just give me more details, we’ll set the price, and we have a deal.”

Gordon chuckled. “Yeah, I don’t know about the price,” he said.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “You don’t? You know I don’t work for free.”

“Thing is, you’re not gonna work,” Gordon said in a low rumble and he and his companions snickered again. “We’ll find the son of a bitch ourselves, you just need to tell us where it is.”

“Where _what_ is?” Dean asked, even though he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Gordon tsked. “Just tell us and we’ll leave you alone.”

 _Like hell you will_ , Dean thought and crossed his arms over his chest, determined not to show them his apprehension. “I’m gonna ask you one more time and then you will leave my property,” he said in the calmest voice he could muster. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know very well what we’re talking about,” Gordon said as the last trace of a smile slipped off his face. “So don’t treat us like we’re stupid.”

“But that’s the only way you can understand what I’m saying,” Dean bit back.

The men moved closer.

“Shut your pretty mouth, princess, and tell us where you’re hiding it,” Gordon hissed.

Dean tensed but didn’t respond, trying to remember what the last thing he’d seen Castiel do was.

“Is it inside?” Gordon walked even closer and tried to look over Dean’s shoulder, but Dean stepped forward and shoved him in the shoulder.

“I don’t remember inviting you in, so stay back,” he growled.

Gordon sniggered and sent Dean a dangerous glare. “Too bad we don’t care.”

When the four of them stepped up to him, Dean couldn’t even resist their force and was pushed into his house, stumbling over his own feet. He stood helplessly for a few seconds and watched the men barge inside, then jumped and punched the man closest to him in the face.

He heard the satisfactory moan and had a moment to stretch his fingers carefully, but then he was caught under the arms, pinned to the wall, and hit in the stomach.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he wheezed and doubled over.

“Relax,” Gordon drawled from somewhere above him. “We just wanna take a quick look around.”

“Get the fuck outta my house,” Dean grunted and straightened up only to be seized by the back of his neck and held down.

“We know it’s here,” Gordon hissed, came closer, and bent to face Dean.

The first instinct told Dean to spit at him and kick him between the legs, but he changed his mind at the last second and then manoeuvred himself out of the grip and hit the men that had been holding him in their abdomens. It took them by surprise and they bent over, moaning. Dean dodged the punch thrown by the third man and reached to grab him by his shirt and knock some sense into him, but then something spun him around and he was standing face to face with smiling Gordon and his fist.

The mere force of the blow sent him to the floor, and then a kick to the stomach made all air escape from his lungs in a loud gasp.

“Hold him down,” Gordon barked and then two pairs of hands fell on Dean’s back and shoulders. He tried to shake them off, but all he could do was watch helplessly as Gordon walked over to the door leading to their bedroom, opened it, and disappeared inside.

“You’re so screwed,” he muttered, shaking with rage. “I’m gonna get your asses kicked out of the town. You have no fucking right—”

“ _Our_ asses?” one of the men asked and laughed. “You got it all wrong, boy. We’re not the ones hiding a monster.”

“I’m not hiding anything—”

“Oh yeah? Why go to all this trouble, then?” Gordon walked out of their bedroom, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You could have just let us in.”

“Maybe because this is my fucking house,” Dean hissed, “and only I decide who I wanna let in.”

“Oh, right. So we’re not invited, but you have no problem hiding that winged freak here?”

“I’m not hiding anyone,” Dean snarled.

“Let me be the judge of that.”

“I’m gonna end you,” Dean threatened, even though he felt as if his heart could jump out of his chest at any moment. He watched Gordon open the door to his father’s old room and walk inside. “There are authorities—”

“Authorities are with us,” one of the men said happily. “You’re not gonna do anything.”

Dean gritted his teeth and listened to Gordon’s footsteps with his heart in his throat, thinking about things Castiel could have left on the bed if he had even managed to escape. But then Gordon came out of the room empty-handed and grim-faced.

“Didn’t find anything?” Dean mocked.

Gordon walked over to him quickly and leant down to face him. “Tell us where the angel is,” he hissed.

Dean spat at him.

Gordon screeched like an angry cat, hit Dean across his face, and backed away, rubbing his face. “Let’s go,” he said to his companions.

They let him free; he stood up immediately and watched them go.

“Fuck,” he cursed, clutched his nose and felt something wet and sticky smeared all over his face. He grabbed a clean rag from the table and wiped his face with it, wincing at the pain. Then he went outside, looking around for any sight of the men, but everything seemed quiet and peaceful again. Frowning, he went around the house and checked the stable, but he still didn’t find Cas. The angel wasn’t stupid and he’d probably hidden himself when he had heard the men looking for him. Dean wouldn’t be surprised if Castiel had decided to leave altogether without a word. The only thing he’d regret if that turned out to be true would be the beating he’d taken for him.

He checked the woods, just to be safe, and when he didn’t find anything there either, he returned home to at least make his face look a little more presentable.

 

***

 

Dean knew Sam wouldn’t be back for a few more hours or so—he had been intending to visit Ellen and Jo for some time now and he’d probably stay there at least till nightfall—so he decided to take a walk to town by himself and try to find out who could have discovered Castiel’s presence in their house.

He first directed his steps to the tavern, and when Benny saw his face, he actually looked shocked.

“The hell?” he asked.

Dean shrugged. “Should’ve seen the other guys,” he said, but his voice sounded grim enough that Benny could probably guess he wasn’t really any close to the truth.

Benny slid a glass full of something golden across the counter. “Here. I’m guessin’ you need this, brother,” he said.

Dean nodded and immediately drained the glass. Benny watched him for a moment and then Dean sighed. “So, uh. It’s nothing, really. Just had some rude visitors,” he explained. Benny didn’t look convinced, but he shrugged, left the bottle in front of Dean, and went to serve another customer.

It was still quite early in the afternoon, but the tavern was already starting to fill with the patrons. Dean sat at the bar stool and watched them, sipping his drink and thinking about what to do next. If it turned out that the angel was really gone, the problem should be solved, maybe apart from the fact that some morons still thought they were hiding him in their house. If they caught him somehow, Dean and Sam would actually have a chance to deny any connection to Castiel, but would they do that, knowing how it could end for him? Would Dean be able to stand back and watch him get hurt again? And for what, for his brother’s mistakes he hadn’t even known about?

Dean was about to pour himself a third glass when he heard his own name. He turned away and noticed two men, sitting at a nearby table, staring at him over their beer mugs.

“Afternoon,” Dean said and nodded in their direction.

One of the men, with blondish hair, sneered at him and looked away, while the other, with his dark hair brushed back, said, “Dean Winchester.”

Dean sipped his drink. “Mark, right? Campbell?” he asked.

“Christian,” the man answered in a tight voice and gestured to his companion. “This is Mark. What happened to your face, Dean Winchester?”

“Fell down,” Dean said.

“Ah, yeah,” Christian said with a nasty smirk and Dean frowned at his tone. “Heard all about it, didn’t we, Mark? Guess it’s only fair, isn’t it?”

Dean put down his glass. “Sorry?”

“Yeah, I mean, we’re glad someone took care of it. Helping those bastards out?” Christian shook his head and stared at Dean with a patronising look on his face. “Not how we do it in our town, Dean. Thought you knew that.”

Dean’s heart quickened its pace, but he tried not to let it show on his face. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Gordon says you used the same story when he paid you a visit,” Mark spoke up.

Dean stood up, not even looking at the men now. “Yeah, well, that’s the truth, so.”

“You’re leaving already?” Christian said and stood up as well. “We just wanted to talk about your new angel pal. Tell us more about him, Dean. What’s he like?” He stopped just in front of Dean, smirking.

Dean looked down on him. “Get the fuck out of my face,” he said slowly.

In his peripheral vision, he noticed Benny looking their way.

“Hey, I was just trying to be friendly,” Christian said innocently and raised his hands.

“Yeah, I don’t need that, so go be friendly somewhere else.”

Fortunately, he backed away and Dean started for the door, determined not to show them his anger and nervousness. But then Mark stood up slowly and called after him, “Bye, Dean Winchester! We’ll be sure to tell your angel hi from you when we finish with him. If he’s still alive by then.”

Dean turned on his heel. “You don’t know where he is,” he snapped.

They were on him in a second, pinning him to the tavern’s wall and smirking right into his face. Dean tried to push them away, but Christian took a swing and punched him in the jaw. Dean only had time to reflect on how this day couldn’t get more wonderful, and then the Campbells were off him, dragged by their collars by the angry-faced Benny.

“You two, get out of here,” he growled at them.

“Angel-slut,” Mark barked before getting pushed out of the tavern.

Dean wiped his mouth and spat at the floor. He noticed that most of the tavern’s customers were openly gaping at him, some surprised and confused, some suspicious or even angry. Dean stared at them provocatively, as if challenging them to do something.

“You too, buddy,” Benny said in a lower voice and gripped his shoulder. “Go home, I think you’ve had enough.”

“But Benny, didn’t you see they were—”

“Yup. Just go now, I don’t want any more fighting in my tavern.”

“No, dude! That wasn’t me! I didn’t do anything!”

“See you, brother,” Benny said and closed the door in his face.

Dean stared at the door for a few long seconds and then spun on his heel to check if the Campbells were still somewhere in the vicinity. He didn’t see anyone, though; the street was quiet and empty. The sun had already disappeared behind the horizon, and the dusk was slowly settling in, painting the sky dark blue and orange, and covering the earth with foggy darkness.

“Fuck,” Dean muttered and leant heavily on the nearest wall. “We’re so screwed.”

He didn’t even manage to make two full steps when someone’s hands grabbed his arm and pulled him into a dark corner.


	5. Chapter 5

“Dean,” Castiel breathed out. His fingers clutched at Dean’s tunic and tugged him closer.

“Cas?” Dean panted and his own hands automatically covered Castiel’s own. “What the hell—”

Castiel let go of him and stepped back, allowing Dean to take a calming breath and look at him more closely. He was wearing a dark cloak, quite similar to the one that Dean had thrown away, although a bit lighter in colour. Beneath it, Dean could see his own old clothes he had given him a few days ago. The angel seemed healthy and strong, judging from the force he had used to snatch Dean away from the street and into the alley.

He wanted to ask him where he’d been before, but Cas beat him to it, staring at his face with his brows pulled together. “What happened to your face?”

Dean nearly scoffed. “Some guys came in earlier today, looking for you.”

Castiel stepped closer, his eyes still not leaving Dean’s bruises. “What?” he snapped.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell them anything. Wouldn’t even know what to tell them. Where did you disappear to, anyway?”

“I needed to take care of some important matters,” Cas murmured and finally looked away. Dean breathed out quietly, more comfortable now that the angel wasn’t staring at him as if he was looking right into his soul.

“Important ma—Fuck, Cas, I told you to stay put!” Dean hissed.

Castiel narrowed his eyes at him. “I was careful, I assure you.”

“Yeah, right, and that’s why now everyone in town knows I’ve been hiding an angel!”

“No one saw me, Dean.”

“So how’d they found out, huh?”

“I’m not sure,” Castiel said and looked around. He seemed nervous, on edge. “But the fact that they know only confirms my belief that I need to leave this town.”

Dean sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Not that I’m trying to get rid of you, but yeah, I think you do.”

Castiel looked at him then, his features hard and focused. “You have to come with me, Dean,” he said.

Dean stared at him for a few seconds, then huffed a laugh. “What? No, thanks, Cas. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Dean…”

“Why would I?” Dean asked disbelievingly.

“Dean, you said it yourself. People already know you’ve been helping me,” Castiel said, his voice serious.

“So what? That doesn’t mean I’m gonna leave with you.” Dean would laugh if it wasn’t for Castiel's grave-looking face.

“Dean,” the angel said in a low voice. “I need your protection. I am wingless. I am army-less. And I need to find my brother.”

“You… you have your wings,” Dean stuttered, and he almost couldn’t believe he was actually having this conversation.

“They are useless,” Cas almost growled and Dean felt a cold spark run down his spine. “And it is your fault.”

“Whoa, what?” Dean stared at him with his eyes opened wide. “What do you mean, my fault?”

“You and your brother gave me that potion,” Castiel hissed and moved closer again. Dean stepped away and his back touched the wall behind him. “You are responsible for my powers fading.”

“We’re also the ones that saved your freaking life,” Dean barked back.

Castiel kept staring at him, his face so close to Dean’s that he would probably be able to count all of Dean’s freckles if it wasn’t so dark. Dean swallowed when the angel narrowed his eyes and slowly lifted a hand. Instead of hitting or grabbing him, though, Cas slid his hand underneath his own cloak, his gaze never leaving Dean’s face.

“I’ll pay you,” he finally said and Dean blinked, stunned.

“Sorry, what?”

“I will pay you,” Castiel repeated and his hand slid out with a round leather pouch. It clinked metallically. “Generously.”

Dean laughed and then stopped as soon as he noticed the angel’s hard eyes. “Uh, sorry, but no. I’m not that easily bought.”

“I know you need money, Dean,” Castiel continued and shook the pouch in front of Dean’s face. “And I need someone to help me safely get to my brother.”

Dean glared at him and clenched his hands. “I’m not some fucking sellsword, you dick.”

“Yet you enrich yourself by hunting and killing,” Castiel said. “I don’t need you to kill for me. I just need protection.”

“Yeah, and I’m not interested!” Dean snarled and tried to walk past him, but the angel seized his shoulder.

“Think about your brother,” he said, quietly.

“You leave my brother out of this.”

“Dean, it’s only a few days journey—”

“I don’t care.”

“There is an angel city near the demon border, and I believe the angels staying there will tell me where I can find my brother,” Cas continued, still gripping Dean’s arm. “But I won’t be able to get there if someone attacks me.”

“Again, I don’t—”

Suddenly, he was shoved into the wall, Castiel’s full weight crushing his chest and his piercing eyes boring into Dean’s.

“Don’t try to tell me you don’t care, Dean,” Castiel whispered. “If you didn’t, you would have told the people where I was. But you stayed quiet. I know you care, Dean. And I really need you to care just for a little bit longer.”

“This isn’t my battle, Cas!” Dean said angrily. “I have nothing to do with you, with demons, with your little angel-demon sparring.”

“You don’t?” Castiel asked. “Where is your father, then, Dean? Where’s your mother?”

Dean stared at him, eyes wide. “Who told you?”

Castiel backed away just a little, but his hands stayed on Dean’s collar. “No one. Your brother mentioned something, I deduced the rest. Dean, I can… I can help you find your father. But first, you need to help me get to my brother.”

 

***

 

The moment Dean finished packing his bag, the front door opened and Sam came in, swaying slightly and smiling. He waved at Dean and came forward, and completely ignored the obvious fact that his brother was getting ready for the road.

“Ellen said Bobby’s been helping her run the house,” Sam said happily and flopped onto the nearest chair. “And Jo said they often stay up late and drink wine and talk, and Dean, I think ‘t’s only a matter of time!”

“A matter of time until what?” Dean asked distractedly and looked around the room, wondering what else he should take with him and doing everything to avoid talking with his brother. Sam seemed happily intoxicated, but Dean was sure he wouldn’t take it lightly. Especially if he himself still wasn’t entirely sure if what he intended to do was a good idea.

“Until they… you know!” Sam beamed at him and his floppy hair fell into his eyes. “You know what, Dean. They’re Ellen ‘n Bobby! Give ‘em a few more weeks and we’re gonna have a wedding,” Sam proclaimed. “Jo’s gonna be our sister, Dean.”

“Bobby’s not our dad, Sam,” Dean said.

“He almost is,” Sam protested. “If Dad’s gone, Bobby’s our dad. You know that.”

“Dad’s not gone,” Dean said harshly and looked at his brother. “Sam. You need to listen to me.”

“I’m listening,” Sam muttered, shook his head, and looked at his hands. “Hey, look, I have something on my—”

“Sam.” Dean stepped closer and put a hand on his shoulder. “Sober up. I’m going to look for Dad.”

Sam raised his head and looked at him, his eyes soft and bleary. “I know. He’ll be back soon, but now we have Bobby, so don’t worry.”

Dean gripped him tighter. “No. I’m going _now_. I’m leaving Lawrence for a few days to look for Dad.”

His brother blinked slowly. “Now?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s dark.”

Dean scoffed. “So what? I’m not a child, Sam, I’m not afraid of the dark.”

“But where… where?” Sam knitted his brows together. “Where are you gonna look for him?”

Dean stepped away, reached for his bag, and threw it over his shoulder. “Don’t worry. Maybe I’ll find a job or two on my way and come back with some more money.” He remembered something and placed a sack full of Cas’ money on the table. “Here. Use it wisely and don’t spend everything while I’m gone.”

Sam tried to get up, confusion visible on his face, but Dean pushed him gently back into his chair. “But… where’d you get it? What is it, Dean?” Sam took the pouch and brought it close to his eyes. “You find a job or somethin’?”

“You could say so,” Dean said and looked away. “Just don’t… Yeah. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be back in a week or two.”

He started for the door and heard Sam get up and go after him. “Hey, Dean! Wait. _What_?” his brother asked, disoriented.

When Dean turned to look at him, Sam was frowning.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I told you. I’m gonna look for Dad.”

“What, alone?”

Dean winced. “Not really.”

Sam made a few more steps in his direction. “Dean?”

“I’m—” Dean sighed and combed a hand through his hair. “Cas is leaving. I’m going with him.”

“Cas—Castiel?” Sam asked. “He’s leaving?”

“Yup.” Dean placed his bag on the floor, certain he’d spend another few minutes explaining everything to Sam. “You see this?” he asked and pointed to his face. Sam’s gaze zeroed in on it and his eyes bulged out.

“What the hell, Dean? Who did this?”

“Gordon. And some others.” He sighed again, suddenly tired of everything. “Look, people know about Cas. Somehow. They know I’m the one that helped him. And Cas said he has to see his brother, and he’s got no powers, and he said… He paid us. He needs someone to, well, to protect him, and he said he’s gonna help me find Dad. I know it sounds stupid, Sam, but you were the one that said there’s nothing here for us to do.”

Sam looked at him for a few seconds. “Yeah…” he said slowly.

“So maybe if we find Dad, we’ll think of something. You probably wanna go with me, but—”

“I don’t,” Sam said, surprisingly sober now. “I mean, I wanna find Dad. And I wanna have something to do. But, Dean, you know how I feel about our life.”

Dean’s face hardened. “You hate it.”

“No, Dean, I don’t hate it! I just feel that there’s more to it than just hunting. So maybe when you find Dad, we can try talking to him again. About Mom, and about his revenge. About changing everything.”

“He’s not gonna give up hunting,” Dean said slowly.

“I know. But maybe we will.”

Dean looked away, thought about Jessica—Sam’s friend… Sam’s love. His brother had never known their mother, had never had a real reason to fight and to hunt. Sam had wanted out for as long as Dean could remember. If Dad could be persuaded to just let them live their life the way they wanted to, Sam would probably end up marrying Jessica and starting a family. Dean knew it, Dean accepted it. He also knew he’d probably never be able to lead a normal, steady life himself, too used to the adrenaline and the adventure.

The road was calling him and he couldn’t resist it any longer.

“I really need to go, Sam,” Dean said, staring at the floor. “I really need it.”

“I know, Dean.” Sam moved closer and put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I get it.”

“I’ll find Dad,” Dean said and looked up at his brother, “and I’ll bring him home.”

 

***

 

Dean had just unhooked Impala’s straps when he heard the stable gate creak quietly. He tightened the strap on the horse’s side and turned back.

Castiel stood in the middle of the stable, his dark cloak covering his body, the hood on his head. Dean’s fingers gripped the horse’s straps tighter and he moved in his direction.

“Is everything alright?” the angel asked quietly.

Dean stopped just in front of him. “Yeah,” he croaked.

He had left Sam in the house and was sure he had everything he would need during his journey, but he still felt unsure of everything. He eyed Cas up and down, his heart beating fast in his chest.

“Can we leave now?” Castiel whispered.

Dean only nodded.

They made their way to the doors and Dean led Impala out, stroking her flank, more to reassure himself than her. He followed Cas to the woods, glancing around every now and then.

They stopped suddenly and Dean stared at the golden horse standing in between the trees.

“Uh, Cas?” Dean asked, stunned. “Where’d you get the horse?”

The angel looked at him over his shoulder, then untangled the horse’s reins from a tree. “I found him.”

“You found him,” Dean repeated. “Where?”

Castiel rearranged the horse’s straps and then mounted him, ignoring Dean’s question. Dean shrugged and did the same, but he kept muttering to Impala and caressing her neck.

“Do you even know where we’re going?” he asked.

Castiel looked at him then, his bright eyes visible even despite his hood and the thick darkness of the night.  

“Yes, Dean. Just follow me.”

 

***

 

Leaving the town did not pose any problems; they didn’t meet anyone on their way, and when they got onto the main road heading north, the moon hanging high in the pitch black sky and the woods around them quiet and peaceful, Dean felt himself get more comfortable and certain.

He rode up to Castiel, who had been leading them for some time now, both their horses trotting steadily, the sound of their hooves echoing on the dusty road.

“So,” Dean started and felt weird about breaking the silence for the first time since they had left Lawrence.

Castiel glanced at him curiously. His hood no longer covered his head, his pale face visible in the faint moonlight.

“How long till we get there?” Dean asked.

“Three, four days,” the angel responded and looked back at the road. “I know our army resides in the old fort near the border with demons. Or at least this is what I’ve managed to learn about the place of their current dwelling.”

“Why are they there? I thought you guys had some great big-ass cities up in the east. Far away from demons and their slums.”

“We’re leading a war, Dean,” Castiel said in a serious tone. “It’s been a long time since we could live peacefully. Our enemy has been growing stronger through the years and it cannot be ignored any longer.”

“So what, you’re just gonna kill them all? Demons, I mean?” Dean asked and frowned. As far as he knew, demons had always lived in their country, as had angels. But the real war had started only a few years ago, both sides attacking, getting attacked, with humans caught up in the middle from time to time.

“We just have to find a peaceful way of resolving this… misunderstanding. Some kind of truce, maybe.”

Dean snorted. “And how do you wanna do that?”

Castiel fell quiet for a few seconds, staring at the road ahead of them with hard eyes. “Michael has an idea.”

“An idea?” Dean asked incredulously. “What idea?”

Instead of answering, Castiel turned his horse closer to the line of the trees along their road, stopped, and got down. Dean pushed his heels into Impala’s sides and stroked her neck.

“What are you doing?” he asked, raising his voice.

Castiel, his horse already strapped to a tree, looked at him with raised eyebrows. “What does it look like? I’m tired.”

“Already?” Dean rode up to him and jumped off Impala. “Wow, you’re a wuss.”

The angel ignored him and unbuckled the bag from his horse’s back. Dean made sure to strap Impala safely to a tree, giving her enough room to manoeuvre so that she could move and feed off the high grass growing near the woods. When he looked back at Castiel, the angel was already seated on the ground and looking through his bag.

“Where’d you get all this stuff?” he asked when he came over with a thick blanket in his hands.

Castiel lifted his head to look at him. “I stole it.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “You stole it. And the horse? You steal it, too?”

“Yes,” Castiel said and went back to rummaging through the bag. “I didn’t have any other choice.”

“You could have just bought it,” Dean said and stretched out on the ground.

Castiel levelled him up with a stare. “I had no money,” he said, his voice low.

“You did, you paid me to go with you.”

“Yes, and that was all I had in my possession.”

“So you’re saying you’re broke now? How are you gonna pay for food or a bed?”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “We’re not going to need beds. And we can always hunt for food.”

“No beds?” Dean blinked and then groaned. “Dude. I’m too old to sleep on the ground for a week!”

“You’ll live,” Cas assured him wryly. “Besides, we won’t pass by many towns on our way. These lands are highly depopulated. Demons often cross the borders, attack people and their settlements.”

“Great,” Dean muttered and lay on his back, hands under his head, staring at the dark sky above him. “Amazing. I already miss my bed.”

He heard a soft rustle and glanced at Cas, and he sat up when he noticed the angel’s wings stretched out behind his back. He wasn’t wearing his cloak or Dean’s old shirt any longer and he sat, slouching a bit, his dark feathers swaying gently in the night breeze. The bone structure looked good, but Dean could see much of the plumage still missing or heavily damaged.

“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly, his fingers itching to touch the wings and check the injuries.

Castiel flinched, as if pulled out of a deep reverie; he lifted his head and opened his eyes to look at Dean. “I’m fine,” he whispered, wings fluttering. “They’re fine. I just needed to unfold them and let them breathe. If I don’t use them, they may cramp.”

Dean nodded and lay down again, then propped his head on his hand. “I see. And how’s your side wound?”

Castiel smiled and turned to show Dean his unscathed skin. “The injury was shallow enough for my limited amount of powers to heal it.”

“Whoa. Not even a scar,” Dean said, amazed. “No flying, though?”

“No flying,” Cas said, his eyes cast down.

Dean had a few more seconds to stare at his wings, which seemed to shine with a dark blue light with every movement, and then they vanished right in front of his eyes. Dean gasped and blinked, and Castiel sent a small smile his way.

“You should get some sleep,” the angel said and put the shirt over his head.

“What about you?” Dean asked.

“I’ll stand guard. We shouldn’t be too reckless, not in such a small proximity of demons,” Castiel said.

“Okay.” Dean flopped on the ground and winced at its hardness under his body. He pushed a part of his blanket underneath his head and turned away from the angel. “I don’t need more than four hours. Wake me up when you get too sleepy.”

“Do you want me to build a fire?”

“Nah, ‘m fine.” Dean closed his eyes, his body relaxing slowly. He could feel Castiel’s eyes on him, but was too tired to feel weird.

“Good night, then.”

“Night,” he mumbled, and was asleep within a minute.

 

***

 

It was still dark when he woke; he couldn’t have slept more than two hours. He sat up and looked dazedly at the thick material sliding down from his shoulders. He rubbed at his eyes, yawning, and realised he’d been lying underneath Castiel’s cloak.

“Cas?” he croaked and looked around.

The angel was nowhere to be seen, so Dean stood up, stretched his limbs, and groaned when he felt the painful consequences of sleeping on the hard ground. He lifted the cloak, folded it sloppily, left it on his blanket, and then went a few steps towards the woods to relieve himself.

As he was slowly waking up, he started to feel something close to panic at the thought of the angel leaving him in the middle of nowhere, with no money, food, or weapons. But then he felt the familiar weight of his blade on his hip, and he saw the horses standing just a few feet away, and he relaxed again. It was weird: he knew he shouldn’t fully trust the angel, and he didn’t; after all, they had known each other for a relatively short time. On the other hand, though, he had no problems falling asleep by his side, leaving all his possessions unguarded. He should probably be alarmed, but it was too late—or too early—for him to care.

He went back to his blanket and sat down on it, staring blankly into the space ahead. Apart from the near deafening sounds of crickets, everything was quiet, empty, and flooded by the shadows.

He heard a snap of a branch and turned back in time to see Castiel emerge from between the trees with something in his hands.

“Hello, Dean,” he said in a quiet voice and came forward.

Dean nodded at him. “Where’ve you been?” he asked and yawned again.

“I needed to move, otherwise I would have fallen asleep,” Castiel said and sat down on his place on the ground again. Dean could now see a short knife and something that looked suspiciously like a dead hare in his hands. “But I was very close. I could see you all the time, don’t worry.”

Dean ignored him and definitely didn’t think about the angel watching him pee, and pointed at the hare instead. “You brought us breakfast?”

“I thought you’d be hungry when you woke up,” Castiel said, the corners of his mouth rising slightly. “I found it limping through the grass and ended its pain. I would be fine eating fruit, but—”

“Uh, please tell me you’re not one of those guys that don’t eat meat,” Dean said and reached for the hare.

Castiel tilted his head. “I do eat meat. I just don’t enjoy killing innocent animals if I don’t have to.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean said and took the knife out of Cas’ hands. “If we’re gonna have to ride all day, we need meat. Period. And you ended his agony, so don’t feel too bad for yourself.”

Castiel wanted to say something, but instead he yawned widely and Dean couldn’t help but laugh, seeing him caught so off guard by it. He stood up and pointed at him and then at his own blanket.

“You. Go get some sleep. I’ll make us some breakfast and wake you up when it’s ready,” he said.

Castiel looked at Dean’s improvised bed for a few seconds and then glanced at Dean questioningly.

“Yeah, go on.” Dean gestured with his knife. “I don’t need it now. I’m just gonna go over there and skin this poor fella.”

Castiel reached for his folded cloak and lay down slowly, still looking at Dean with wide eyes. Dean cleared his throat.

“Uh, so. Good night, I suppose,” he said awkwardly and didn’t wait for Cas to turn away and go to sleep, but just turned on his heel and went to Impala to get his bag.

He spent the next half hour trying to make a fire, cursing the damp wood, and then another half preparing breakfast. He had some bread and spices in his bag, along with the leather canteen full of water that he had taken from his house. They would need to find some clean stream soon, but it was enough for now. He thanked his dad for teaching him everything he needed to survive on the road, even though it had been a few months since he’d travelled anywhere far enough to camp under the open sky.

The sky was turning grey and the hare was almost ready and smelling delicious, when Castiel woke up and came to sit by the fire with Dean. He still looked tired, having been sleeping only for an hour or so, but at least he stopped yawning so terribly. Dean stared at his messy hair for a few seconds and then offered him a generous helping of the hare.

“Thank you,” Castiel said, his voice hoarse with sleep, and promptly started to eat.

Dean smiled and did the same. They ate in silence, and Dean knew he should feel strange about this—sitting peacefully at the edge of the road at dawn, eating breakfast with an angel, on their way to the mysterious angel city, where they hoped to find the angel most people hated—but he didn’t. Not now.

They sat for a few minutes after they finished eating; Dean tried to put out the remaining flames and Castiel explored the insides of his stolen baggage.

“Got anything interesting in there?” Dean asked finally and gave him a sidelong glance.

“I’m not sure,” the angel said in a flat voice. “I seem to have acquired two small knives, which is good since I lost all my weaponry, but they probably wouldn’t be of much use to me during a serious duel.”

“But you can always hunt hares,” Dean said and winked. Then, immediately after that, he felt his ears turn red. He cleared his throat and looked away.

The angel didn’t seem to notice anything, fortunately, and continued to look through his bag.

“There’s a small leather pouch, but it’s empty,” he said and sighed. “A bandage. Something that looks like a piece of string. Oh, and there was a wineskin, but it’s empty now.”

“Was it full of water or wine?” Dean asked, suspicious.

Castiel looked at him, eyes wide. “Water. But I drank it.”

Dean grabbed his own canteen from where it lay on the ground. “Great. You’re not getting any of my water supply, then.”

“I’m fine, I don’t need it.”

“You don’t now, but you’re gonna need it soon. Me, too. We need to find more water.”

Castiel stood up and pointed his finger in the direction of the main road. “There’s a river just a mile or two from the road.”

Dean got up, too, and frowned. “Isn’t that where the demon border lays?” he asked.

“The river _is_ the border, so yes, you could say so,” Castiel said and headed towards the horses without so much as a glance at Dean, who only cursed under his breath and followed after him.

 

***

 

Luckily for them, they still hadn’t left the human territory, so the demon border wasn’t guarded in any way and they could easily refill their water sacks and let their horses rest for a while. The sun was already quite high up on the summer sky, hot on Dean’s skin, and he didn’t think twice before kicking off his boots and jumping into the pleasantly cold water. Soon, they probably wouldn’t have many opportunities to do such things; within the next day, they’d probably cross the angel-human border. Dean would bet on anything that demons weren’t as peaceful there as they were here.

“We should go,” Castiel said, squinting his eyes in the bright sunlight. “If we move fast enough, we can reach the border before sundown.”

“Yeah, alright,” Dean said, got out of the river, and wriggled his toes in the grass. “You sure there are no angel towns up there? I’d kill for a bed, to be honest.”

The angel smiled at this. “You’re on the road for a day and you’re already complaining. If I knew, I’d have asked Sam to come with me.”

Dean narrowed his eyes, bent down, and caught a handful of cold water to splash him with, but the angel noticed that and immediately hid behind Impala, smiling at Dean. Dean couldn’t help but laugh a little, then shook his head and used the water to clean his face one more time.

“I’ll get you for it yet,” he warned, but Castiel only shrugged and got onto his horse. Dean followed suit and soon they were on the road again, the sun beating down on their heads and making Dean dizzy with its warmth and the lack of sleep.

“No, but really,” he drawled after a while and shifted in his saddle. “Anything? A roadside inn? Run by an old pervert with two ugly daughters, with beds full of bedbugs and stinky sheets?”

Castiel laughed at him and hid his smile behind his hand.

“Well, or not. Maybe the guy’s really nice, and his daughters are even nicer. And the beds are soft, the beer is cold, and everything’s real cheap. Whaddaya say, Cas? Can we find an inn like that?”

Castiel glanced at him, his blue eyes incredibly bright in the golden sun. “We can try. But I can’t promise anything.”

“Look, you don’t even have anything, I mean, like a blanket. I’m not givin’ you mine again, forget it,” Dean said. “Where are you gonna sleep, huh?”

“I am used to tough travel conditions, Dean. Plus, I don’t sleep much.”

“You’re gonna catch a cold from sleeping on the ground and then die, and what happens with your holy mission then?” Dean joked.

“Let’s hope I won’t fall ill, then,” Cas said, pushing his heels into his horse’s sides and speeding up, taking the lead.

Dean stared at the back of his head for a while, frowning, then shrugged and ran after him.

 

***

 

The inn was, in fact, neither too shaggy nor too clean, but at least it _existed_ and Dean would not hear a word of protest from the angel when he saw it.

“We’re staying here,” he stated, grinning, and patted Impala’s neck.

Castiel sighed and looked at the road ahead of them, dusty and uncomfortable and painted with orange rays of the slowly setting sun. “The border is only a few miles from here,” he said unhappily.

“Yeah, so we cross it, it’s the middle of the night, and then what?” Dean asked and got ready to jump off the horse. “Come on, Cas. Don’t make me beg you. We’ll cross the border when we get to it.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “I thought we didn’t have any money.”

“ _You_ don’t,” Dean pointed out. “But you paid me. You think I would leave everything with my brother?”

“Oh.” Cas got off his horse and joined Dean on the ground. “As a matter of fact, I am a little hungry.”

“See? I bet they offer plenty of delicious meals. Maybe we can afford some of it.” When Castiel tilted his head, Dean shrugged. “Well, I don’t have _that_ much money, you know.”

“But you said you wanted to spend the night here,” Castiel said, confused.

Dean flashed him a grin. “Yup.”

“But you don’t have enough money?”

“Yup.”

“So how—”

“Just watch me,” Dean said and gestured at him. “Come on, I’m starving.”

They tied their horses to a large log in front of the old stone building, took most of their baggage with them, and headed towards the entry.

The doors screeched and scratched the wooden floorboards when Dean pushed them open.

“Hello?” Dean called and looked around.  

The inn looked deserted, its main and possibly only room completely empty and quiet. There were only several small tables, set out haphazardly around the place; yet, the counter was clean, and Dean noticed several different bottles behind the shiny glass cabinet. He went closer to examine them more carefully while Castiel took several wary steps towards the wooden staircase in the back of the room, probably leading to the upper floor.

Dean was squinting, trying to read the inscription on one of the more colourful bottles, when the front doors opened again. He turned on his heel, a wide smile on his face.

The man in front of him was huge, with wide shoulders and a thick moustache on his red face. Dean’s eyes focused on the enormous axe he was holding, and he gulped.

“Hi,” he said. He could see Castiel in the corner of his eye as he moved slowly towards them, with arms hanging loosely at his sides, ready to draw a weapon at any second. Dean’s fingers twitched near the blade on his hip.

But then the man gasped loudly and immediately lowered the axe. “Oh!”

Dean raised his eyebrows and exchanged a quick, confused glance with Cas. “Are you open?” he asked.

“Yes! Yes, of course, welcome, good sirs! Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting any guests today,” the man said and put the axe on the floor by the doors.

“Do you ever?” Castiel asked wryly and Dean had the biggest urge to jab him in the ribs, but he wasn’t standing close enough.

The man, and apparently also the owner of the inn, nodded frantically, and moved closer to stand behind the counter. “Sorry, sorry,” he repeated. “You can never be too safe around here, you know? You just surprised me, s’all.”

“That’s fine,” Dean said and smiled. “We know a thing or two about self-defense.” He pointed to the blade strapped to his leg and watched the owner’s face closely. He didn’t seem surprised or scared, but Dean could swear he saw a hint of awe in his eyes.

“You looking for a place to sleep?” the man asked.

Dean sat on one of the high stools by the counter, Castiel mimicking his every move. “Yeah, maybe. But now, we would literally kill for something to eat. And maybe a pint or two of beer.”

The innkeeper slammed his big hands on the bar. “I think I may have something just right,” he said and grinned. Dean smiled back easily. “You just wait and get comfortable.”

“Oh, we will, thanks,” Dean called when the man disappeared behind the door at the back of the room, and then looked at Castiel, sitting right next to him. “You heard him. Get comfortable, angel. We’re staying the night.”

Cas stared at him, confusion in his eyes. “You didn’t even ask for a price, how can you be so sure—”

“You saw him barge in here with his axe, all ready for a fight and everything, right?” Dean asked in a more hushed voice and leant in towards him. Castiel nodded. “See, that kind of behaviour tells us one thing: the guy thinks he needs to protect his home.”

“From demons, probably, yes,” Castiel confirmed in a low voice.

“Yeah, well. Maybe it’s demons. Maybe it’s something else.” Dean tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger and leant back, smiling.

The angel tilted his head in a silent question and Dean wanted to sigh and answer more openly, but then the owner came back with two plates full of roasted potatoes and meat and all of Dean’s thoughts left his head immediately.

It was only a few minutes later, after he satisfied his hunger, that he could straighten in his chair and start the most casual chat with the owner, asking him about his business, talking about the weather, or discussing different types of beer (which actually got them free samples of the man’s own homemade brew). Castiel kept mostly quiet, eating slowly, glancing at the owner, and simply staring at Dean. He knew the angel was staring because he managed to catch his eyes more than just a few times during their meal, but he tried to ignore it.

“So,” Dean started when his plate was almost empty, “what’d you mean when you said you can never be too careful here? Robbers, or what?”

The man sighed and leant heavily on the counter. “If only. I can handle people. Not sure what to do with ghosts, though.”

Dean tried very hard to hide his smile, but couldn’t resist glancing at Castiel with a proud look on his face. “Ghosts?” he asked.

“Ghosts, yes,” the man said in a serious voice. “I’m pretty sure my home is haunted.”

“And you wanna fight a ghost with an axe?” Dean asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Folks say ghosts are afraid of iron!”

“Yeah, well, did you manage to get rid of it for good after punching it with your axe?”

The owner narrowed his eyes at him. “No, it’s still here. Are you some kind of a ghost specialist or something?”

Dean grinned. “Nope. I’m a hunter.”

 

***

 

It was a sight Dean would not forget for a long, long time, he was sure of it: an angel of the freaking Lord standing in front of a line of salt, with a fire iron in his hands and a very stormy expression. Dean chuckled to himself, which earned him a confused and sullen look from the angel.

“We could have been far into the angel territory by now,” he said in a low voice, “but instead we’re here, playing with some ridiculous angry spirit and throwing salt at it.”

“Hey, hunting’s a very serious business,” Dean warned him and swayed the axe in front of his face. Castiel scowled at him and stepped back.

Behind their backs, the owner of the inn was rummaging through the old books he’d kept in his room since the beginning of his innkeeping career. They had managed to establish that the ghost haunting the house was probably one of the former owners of the building, who had allegedly died in his sleep and had left an old register of his clients. Dean wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out to be written in his own blood. Sometimes people did really, really weird things.

Castiel kept looking at him sceptically, though, so Dean glided closer and whispered, “You’ll thank me after you wake up tomorrow and you don’t have ants crawling all over your face.”

“You don’t know what’s hiding in those beds,” Cas whispered back and Dean could only grin.

“Alright,” the owner said loudly and Dean backed away from Castiel’s side. “I think this is it.”

“You think?” Dean looked at the heavy volume in the man’s hands and shrugged. “Looks old enough. Let’s burn it.”

“ _Burn_ it?” The owner looked scandalised.

“Yeah,” Dean said in a flat tone. “I know it’s a book, and I know it’s important, but that’s exactly why we need to get rid of it. If it really belonged to the ghost, he’ll never bother you again.”

The owner nodded and took two little stones from the pocket of his apron, placed the book on the table by the window, and started to rub the stones together. Dean sighed quietly and turned to Castiel, but the angel was already looking somewhere behind Dean’s shoulder.

“I have a question,” he started. “Is the salt going to work if the ghost is already inside this room?”

Dean didn’t have time to react because he suddenly heard a yelp and a crash, and when he turned back on his heel, he noticed the ghost looming over the owner lying helplessly on the floor, the book and the stones in two different corners of the room. He jumped into action even before he could think it through, rushed towards the ghost and swung the axe at it. The spirit flickered and vanished, and Dean had only a few seconds to help the owner stand up when he was shoved into the wall with an invisible force, all air escaping from his lungs.

He heard the owner scream out in pain when the ghost pushed his cold fingers into his chest, and then Cas was there; he wielded the fire iron at the ghost’s head and forced it to disintegrate for the second time. Dean felt he could breathe again and he opened his mouth to shout at him, but suddenly the book burst into flames with a flick of Castiel’s wrist.

“Whoa,” he stuttered and swayed a little, then came over to where the angel stood and watched the book. The owner, with his face pale and eyes incredibly wide, leant heavily on the table.

“It was—I—”

Dean came over and patted him on the shoulder, smiling. “It should be over now.”

“Th—thank you…”

“No need to thank us,” Dean said and theatrically wiped his forehead. “But I’m not gonna lie, I feel this hunt has really drained all my energy. I think I’d sleep for a week if I could. Right, Cas?”

The angel didn’t respond, but he actually did look a little paler than a few moments ago.

“You can stay here, if you want,” the owner said hastily. “I won’t charge you! Let it be my way of repaying you.”

“Oh.” Dean smiled. “Thanks. You’re such a decent citizen. Now all I can think of is a glass full of cold beer to clear my mind.”

“There’s plenty of beer!” the owner said enthusiastically and gestured at them. “Come on, let’s go back downstairs, we should celebrate!”

Dean laughed out loud and wriggled his eyebrows at Cas, who tried to scowl at him, but Dean couldn’t be fooled and noticed the corners of his mouth rising a little. Dean bumped him with his shoulder on his way to the door.

“Told you we’re sleeping here tonight,” he murmured and winked.

 

***

 

Castiel retired upstairs not long after that, and Dean didn’t even protest too much, aware of the fact that even such a small trick as setting fire to the book had apparently been able to weaken him. The angel seemed tired enough that Dean even started to worry, but then the innkeeper slid another glass of beer towards him.

Dean vaguely remembered Cas sliding past him, his hand brushing Dean’s shoulder on his way, his quiet voice saying goodnight. Then the owner started to ask him about their journey, but Dean realised he too was exhausted and excused himself, remembering to drink the last drops of the beer.

On his way upstairs he started to wonder if angels could get drunk, but then he needed to concentrate hard enough to find the right door. They hadn’t protested when the owner had offered them just one room with two beds—you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, after all, and the man had even given them beer. But Dean couldn’t remember which room it was, so he had to try two different door handles before he finally stumbled upon the one that was open.

“Hey, Cas,” he slurred and then remembered he was supposed to be quiet because Cas was asleep, and he giggled. “Shhh,” he silenced himself and closed the door in what he hoped was a completely inaudible way.

The room was dark and he walked into it blindly, stretching his arms in front of him. He noticed a bed at the last second and bumped his knees into it, then cursed under his breath.

“Sorry,” he whispered and patted the bed with his hands, trying to discover if it was occupied. His fingers slid over the scratchy sheets and encountered something more solid. “Oops.”

“Dean?” came the angel’s sleep-roughened voice and Dean shivered.

“Sorry,” Dean repeated and let go of what turned out to be the angel’s leg. He looked at Cas but all he could see was his silhouette, his hair wild and messy. “Go back to sleep.”

“Be careful,” Castiel said.

Dean frowned at this and wanted to ask him what he meant, but then he tripped over something laid out the middle of the room and almost fell down on his face.

“Fuck!” he hissed.

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice sounded clearer now, and Dean could see him moving on his bed.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he said. He passed the stupid thing lying in the middle of the room and finally reached his own bed, then sighed and plopped right down onto it, burying his face in the pillow. “Night,” he mumbled and heard Cas responding, and then promptly blacked out.


	6. Chapter 6

The darkness was already falling when Dean heard the river.

“You hear that?” he asked and glanced at Castiel. He smiled when he saw Cas nod. “Awesome, let’s camp here for a night. I want fish.”

Cas squinted at him. “Can you catch fish?” he asked, suspicious.

“Of course I can,” Dean said proudly and hurried Impala in the direction of the river.

He couldn’t, at least not right away and not without Castiel’s help. In the end, they both ended up breathing heavily, with their trousers wet up to their knees and only two small fish to fry above the fire.

“ _Of course I can catch fish_ ,” Castiel said mockingly and made a face, pulling at his soaked clothes.

“Shut your mouth,” Dean said from across the fire. “Or you won’t have your supper tonight.”

“I caught that, of course I will have supper.”

“You didn’t catch anything, you just stood there and waved your hands.”

“Yes, and if it wasn’t for me, the fish wouldn’t jump straight into your hands.”

“And if it wasn’t for me, you’d eat plants tonight,” Dean bit back.

There was no anger in their banter and Dean could see Castiel smiling slightly, his face illuminated by the bright flames.

“I have no qualms about eating plants, Dean.”

“Yeah, because you’re weird like that,” Dean said and had to forcefully tear his gaze from Castiel’s face and his soft eyes. Instead, he focused on the fish in front of him, impaled on thick sticks and hanging above the small fire, already pleasantly brown and dripping. He stretched his legs so that the warmth would dry his trousers and feet.

They had already been officially travelling through the angel territory, having crossed the border early in the morning, just after leaving the inn. According to the angel, they would reach their destination by the next evening, but right now neither of them was in a too much of a hurry to really get there. Castiel had assured him he would help him find Dad, but Dean knew he wanted to find his own brother first. Dean had no reason to travel with Cas any farther into the angel territory if Michael happened to be somewhere in there, and he had a feeling he would probably be going home sooner rather than later. Without the angel, of course.

They didn’t talk about it, though, not during the day and not now, waiting for their meal and enjoying the quiet murmur of the river and the loud concert of night animals.

Dean was turning the fish upside down to let it fry a little bit more on the other side when he caught the sight of Cas taking off his shirt from across the fire and he almost dropped the stick.

Castiel looked at him and tilted his head curiously.

“What—” Dean croaked, then cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”

Castiel blinked. Dean gestured at his naked chest, staring hard at the fish in his hand instead of at him. He had already seen the angel half-naked, but for some reason it felt much more intimate this time.

“My clothes are wet,” Cas explained and shrugged. “I am cold.”

“Yeah, right,” Dean snorted. “And you’re feeling warmer without your shirt?”

The angel shifted in his seat and moved closer to the fire, looking at Dean quizzically. “Yes, I am. Plus, I need to spread my wings,” he said, and with a soft rustle of feathers, his wings materialised behind his slouched back.

Dean stared for a few moments. He really couldn’t help it; the wings looked almost completely healthy now, wide and fluffy and glowing with a dark shade of blue every time the wind moved them slightly. Dean could see that blue even in the dark, even with as little light as the fire could produce.

Castiel noticed his look and hung his head low, hiding it between his arms. Dean could swear he saw a faint blush colouring his face. He felt his cheeks go pink as well, but convinced himself it was because of the fire and not because of the half-naked angel with gorgeous wings he longed to touch sitting just at arm’s length.

He forced himself to look at the fish instead of at Castiel’s wings and did everything he could to ignore their gentle whispering every time the angel breathed in and out. He wasn’t sure why it was bothering him so much now; he used to push his hands in between the feathers back when they had still been in Lawrence, Castiel too injured to move or protest. And he had already seen him like that, at the very beginning of their journey. But now Cas was alright and didn’t need his help, and yet Dean’s fingers twitched at the thought of running them through the soft plumage. Angels were kind of fascinating, he had to admit it, and it would be good to know everything he could about them, just for future reference. He was a hunter, after all, and who knew what could happen in a few years if the war continued.

“I think it’s ready,” Castiel said suddenly, pulling Dean out of his thoughts. Dean jerked and glanced at him, then nodded and reached for the fish. He broke the stick in two and gave Castiel his portion of the meal.

They ate for a few quiet minutes, Dean looking around them and Cas with his eyes fixed in the blank space ahead of him. Dean couldn’t help but start to feel quite helpless now, thinking about the end of their short journey which actually didn’t lead him any closer to finding Dad. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably and kept sneaking glances at Cas.

“Is something bothering you, Dean?” the angel asked after a while.

Dean huffed a laugh and threw the stick into the fire. “What? No.”

“Dean.”

In the corner of his eye, Dean saw the wings melt away into the darkness of the night and he couldn’t help but look up and stare at the space where they’d been just a second ago.

“I just—” he started, transfixed, then cleared his throat. Castiel sent him an encouraging look, grabbed his shirt, and put it on. “Well. It kind of seems like you didn’t need me, after all.”

Cas arched an eyebrow at him, his fingers on the buttons of his shirt. Dean looked away.

“What do you mean?”

“Heh. So, you paid me, _a lot_ , and all I did was keep you company. And maybe catch you fish.”

“I am perfectly capable of catching my own fish, so please stop taking all credit for yourself,” Castiel said with an air of smugness, but Dean could see him smiling.

“Whatever.” Dean kicked a clump of dirt in his direction. “What I mean is, we didn’t even meet any demons or anything.”

“But we could have,” Cas noted drily.

“But we _didn’t_ ,” Dean emphasised. “Don’t you feel like you threw your money away?”

“We still have a day to go. You can prove your worth to me then, if you really want.”

Dean could see Castiel wasn’t treating the subject seriously and felt a pang of irritation rise up inside him.

“Maybe I’ll catch you another freakin’ meal,” he grumbled.

Castiel frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but he had to notice the shift in Dean’s mood and he stayed silent and turned his head to stare at the line of trees visible on the other side of the river. Dean rubbed his face and sighed.

“So… who’s gonna be there when we arrive?” he asked after a moment.

“The city is old and abandoned, it had been turned into a garrison city some time ago,” Castiel explained. “It’s heavily fortified, perfect for an army. It’s also located very close to the border, which makes our attacks easier. I expect to find some of the main leaders there; maybe they’ll tell us where Michael is.”

Dean felt his back go stiff and he couldn’t help but shake his head a little. “I’m not going any farther, Cas.”

“You’re not?” Dean wasn’t looking at him, but he knew the angel narrowed his eyes and frowned.

“No. Sorry, but there’s nothing in it for me. I promised Sam I’d find Dad, but this little adventure of yours is not going to help me track him down. So no, I’m not going. You asked me to go with you to the city, and I will, but then our ways part.”

“And I promised you I’d help you find your father. I will keep my word, Dean.”

“Yeah, but when?” Dean looked up at him, brows pinched. “I can’t be gone for so long, man. My brother needs me.”

“Your brother is a grown man,” Castiel said wryly.

Dean wanted to say that he was all Sam had, but then remembered Jessica, remembered the way Sam used to talk about her, like he was ready to start a family with her straight away. And he probably would, Dean thought with a shiver, if it wasn’t for Dean, who insisted on staying in the family business and waiting for Dad.

But he pushed those thoughts deep, deep at the back of his head and instead glared at the angel who kept looking at him.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t _want to_ spend an eternity wandering the Earth with you just because you said so,” he barked and got up, not bothering to look at Castiel. “I’m gonna go clean up a little. Don’t wait up, I can stand guard first.”

He strode off towards the river, the irritation he had felt a few minutes ago roaring to life again and making his hands shake and his head dizzy.

 

***

 

The aqueduct looked old and fragile, as if the smallest blow of the wind could crumble its tall walls to the ground. It was also almost entirely covered with plants that made the grey concrete almost invisible underneath their stark greenness. Dean rode under one of the arches and looked up at the mysterious building.

“Okay, so… it’s kind of creepy,” he said, loud enough for Cas to hear.

The angel, quite far ahead of Dean, looked at him over his shoulder and raised his brows. “This is one of the oldest buildings in our country, Dean. It used to serve millions upon millions of people, providing them with fresh water. I fail to see how it could be considered ‘creepy’.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Can you imagine building it, though? I mean, how did they even manage to build something like this?”

“If you’re suggesting magic,” Castiel said and looked back at the road again, “you’re probably not entirely wrong.”

“Is it even still working?”

“Does it look like it’s working?”

Dean bit his lip and narrowed his eyes at the angel’s back. Since last night and Dean’s outburst, Castiel seemed more distant and cold than he’d been in the last few days they’d been travelling together. Dean tried not to let it get to him; after all, he wasn’t the one to blame—all he did was tell the truth and if Castiel didn’t like it, he needed to get over it by himself.

They didn’t talk too much now, with Dean starting some new topic out of pure boredom and Castiel almost immediately cutting it with his uninterested tone. Fortunately, it was already long after noon and, according to Castiel, they should arrive at the city in a few hours. There was no chance Dean would be able to start his journey back home tonight, though, and the angel informed him he would be welcome to stay overnight in the garrison and depart as soon as he wanted to tomorrow.

They had been riding along the gigantic aqueduct since the morning, and Dean amused himself with riding in slaloms, brushing his hands over the old stone, and staying far behind Castiel, only to push his heels into Impala’s sides later and sprint way ahead of him, feeling the wind in his ears and the sun on his face. It had been too long since he was on the road, although he hadn’t realised how much he had missed it. But now he had the last few days of going back to Lawrence and he intended to squeeze as much as he could out of them. Who knew what would happen after he was home and when he would have a chance to travel again.

After some time, the flat and sunny landscape they’d been passing started to change, with more and more solitary trees, casting long, trembling shadows on the ground, with small streams and larger valleys, and even more trees. Then suddenly there was forest everywhere, and Dean welcomed the pleasant shade on his too-warm skin.

They let their horses drink out of the deeper stream they crossed, refilled their own flasks with fresh water, and ate some fruit straight out of the bush. They still kept quiet, but Dean felt the air between them had shifted from angry to more pleasant and harmonious. Whatever would  happen after they arrived at the city—whether they would ever see each other again—Dean couldn’t say their journey was entirely meaningless. He wasn’t even angry as Cas anymore, and he could say Cas wasn’t angry at him. They just had different purposes and there was nothing they could do about it.

They were riding uphill now, the aqueduct still a silent companion beside them, becoming lower and lower as the road climbed up. The tree cover was dense enough that the setting sun wasn’t able to reach them anymore and Dean had to put his leather coat on to stop the goose bumps from crawling on the bare skin of his arms. Castiel didn’t seem affected in the slightest, his light brown cloak still thrown over the back of his horse and the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows. Dean could see the small knife strapped to his hip, the only weapon Castiel had with him. He rode up closer.

“How come you don’t have a sword?” he asked, glancing at Cas in the quickly falling darkness. “I thought a great angel warrior like you would have some big-ass sword.”

The angel turned his head to look at him, too. “I had a sword,” he said in a flat voice. “I lost it when me and my division were attacked.”

“Oh,” Dean said. “That sucks. What did it look like?”

Castiel didn’t look at him anymore and stared at the road ahead of them instead, but Dean could swear he could see the corner of his lips turn up.

“It wasn’t too long or too heavy. Perfect for quick fights. The handle was carved from amber, encrusted with silver.” Dean opened his mouth to compliment it, but then Cas added, “There was a large bee on the hilt, with its wings spread out and serving as the cross, and a small beehive as a pommel.”

Dean blinked.

“A bee.”

Castiel ducked his head and shrugged.

“You had a freakin’ bee on your ass-kicking angel warrior sword.”

Castiel gazed at him. “I never said my sword kicked any ass.”

Dean huffed a laugh and shook his head. “You’re actually serious, aren’t you?”

Cas shrugged again. “Yes, I am, Dean. I don’t understand why you don’t consider bees a fitting emblem on angel swords. They too have wings, after all.”

“Yeah, well, maybe because _they’re bees_?”

“Bees are incredible animals, Dean. They’re hardworking and brave and good.”

“But they’re insects, Cas!”

“So what? People have other animals on their swords and no one criticises them.”

“But… but they have, like, wolves and bears and dragons! Those are warrior animals!” Dean laughed out loud, throwing his head back and trying to imagine the sword Cas described, which only made him laugh harder.

“Bees sting,” Cas said, petulant and glaring at Dean.

Dean giggled. “Oh, yeah, and then they die.”

Now, instead of angry, Cas looked sad and Dean tried to stop laughing for his sake; he wiped at his eyes and shook his head.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said. “You know, it actually isn’t such a terrible idea for a sword. Kind of makes you think, right?”

“Every time you sting, you risk losing your own life,” Castiel answered, quiet and looking downcast.

“Wow.” Dean coughed. “That was deep.”

Cas only looked at him.

“But, yeah, I mean. You’re right. Also, at least it was original! I bet there’s no other sword like that anywhere.”

“It was custom made especially for me,” Castiel admitted sheepishly.

“Yeah. And at least it wasn’t too… pretentious. It would be really boring if you had angel wings on your sword.”

Cas looked at him through his lashes. “Many of my siblings have swords like that.”

“See?” Dean reached out and patted Cas on his arm. “You’re original. In a… cute way.”

“I am not cute,” Castiel threatened and squinted at him. Dean laughed again; with his dishevelled hair, bright eyes, and cheeks still flushed pink, the angel _was_ kind of cute.

But Dean didn’t need to tell him that.

“Of course,” he said instead and smiled to himself. “Sorry I laughed.”

“It’s alright.”

“Shame you lost the sword, though.”

“It is.”

“Maybe you can get another one just like it?”

“I don’t know,” Cas said. “All angels have their own swords, which they receive when they come of age. The swords have our names engraved on the blades and they are intended to serve us our whole lives just as we are supposed to guard them.”

“But that wasn’t your fault. They stole it from you,” Dean protested.

“I should have been more cautious.”

“Cas, they _attacked_ you and killed your friends.”

“That is not any excuse.”

“ _That_ is a very good excuse! So what, you can’t have a sword now?”

Castiel rolled his eyes at him. “Of course I can. But it won’t be as good as my old sword. It could never be.”

Dean shook his head. “These rules are ridiculous. I bet other angels lose their swords all the time and they can get new ones. You should just stand up for yourself, Cas.”

Castiel was quiet for a while, and Dean couldn’t see his face because it was too dark already, but then he said, “Michael has lost his sword.”

Dean raised his brow. “Your brother, the big leader Michael?”

“Yes.”

“And?” Dean prompted. “Did he get another one?”

“He has several of them,” Castiel said and Dean was about to say “ha, told you,” but then Cas continued, “but he’s looking for his old one all the time.”

“What, did he have a naked angel lady on it?” Dean snorted.

“No. Angel wings.”

“Of course. How original.” He wasn’t sure, but it looked like Cas turned his head to smile at him, so he grinned back. “So, how’d he lose it? Forgot when he last put it and now can’t find it?”

“Lucifer stole it from him.”

Dean’s smile faltered. “Lucifer? Uh… isn’t he made up?”

He was sure Castiel was looking at him now. “No, he isn’t.”

“Okay.” Dean swallowed. “Uh. I didn’t know that.” Lucifer was the ultimate monster, whom all parents used to scare their children. Lucifer was a legend, a myth, the cause of all evil in the world. No one really knew what Lucifer was—was he a demon? a human? something else entirely?

Castiel had to sense Dean’s confusion and dread because Dean felt him move his horse a little bit closer to Impala’s side.

“Lucifer used to be an angel, Dean, but he had betrayed us long ago and ceased to be one.”

“How do you _cease_ to be an angel?” Dean asked.

“You lose your grace.”

“Grace?”

“Your powers. Lucifer was cast down and lost his angelic powers, thus he’s no longer an angel. Not in a practical sense, anyway.”

“And theoretically?”

“He still has his wings,” Castiel said gravely and Dean felt a cold spark run down his spine, but he blamed the darkness surrounding them. There were still so many things people didn’t know about angels and Dean had a feeling he would be one of the chosen few that had the pleasure of gaining that new knowledge.

“But no powers?” he asked just to calm himself, but Cas wasn’t helpful this time.

“He became interested in dark magic, which gave him the amount of powers comparable to Michael’s, enough to control demons.”

“He’s controlling demons?” Dean asked.

“They serve him, yes.”

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. _So many things_. “This is why you’re at war with them, isn’t it?” He didn’t need to look to know that Cas nodded. “So what, you have to kill Lucifer?”

“That is Michael’s ultimate goal, yes. With Lucifer gone, demons will have no real reason to fight and the war will finally end.”

“But you said Lucifer’s powers are comparable to Michael’s. Is there someone more powerful, then?”

“Michael is the most powerful of angels. He’s our leader and the greatest of all warriors. Only he can defeat Lucifer in the final battle.”

“So why isn’t he doing anything?”

It was so dark now Dean could barely see the road ahead of them, but he noticed Cas quickly turned his head to face him.

“Michael has been leading the wars for years now. He’s doing everything he can, but Lucifer remains unreachable and there are millions of demons defending him. We are simply not able to fight them all. Also, to kill Lucifer, Michael needs the sword.”

“The one Lucifer had stolen from him?”

“Exactly.”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. “Well, then you guys are screwed.”

“You don’t need to tell me that,” Cas said in a similarly bitter tone and before falling silent.

They didn’t say anything for a while, Castiel staring stubbornly ahead of them and Dean with his eyes glued to Impala’s dark mane, his fingers stroking it gently. He felt a bit lightheaded after that weird history lesson Cas had given him and felt like he needed a few minutes to come to terms with everything. Or maybe a few days.

Suddenly, Castiel grew rigid in his saddle. Dean glanced at him and opened his mouth to ask what he was doing, but then Cas said, “We’re here.”

 

***

 

When Dean woke up, he needed a few long seconds to recognise his surroundings. He blinked at the soft mattress underneath him and squinted at the warm comforter covering him up to his chin and then remembered.

The city. The angels. Castiel talking with someone important and then leading him to this room, wishing him goodnight, and disappearing.

He hadn’t seen much when he’d entered the room last night, but now, with the first bright rays of sunshine falling through the high windows, he was able to look around and drink in all the luxury.

The bed was big and majestic, if that was even the word that could be used to describe beds. There were high wooden columns above his head, and the sheets and comforters were smooth and smelled nice. Dean had never slept in such a comfortable bed before, of that he was sure. The room itself was small but nicely furnished, with dark wooden cabinets, heavy drapes, and golden decorations here and there. Dean spent a few moments just lying there and breathing deeply, and then he got up quickly and reached for his baggage.

Yes, it was nice. The bed was probably the best thing that happened to him during this whole journey, the room was nice, the whole garrison seemed nice, even if a bit too army-like for Dean’s tastes. They hadn’t had any chance to see the whole city—when they’d arrived, it’d been well into the night already and Dean had felt too tired to even want to see anything apart from a place to sleep.

Today, though, he felt fresh and well-rested, probably for the first time since he’d met Castiel. But he knew he didn’t have time for any sightseeing. The angel would probably want to start looking for his brother as soon as possible, and Dean should probably begin his journey back home.

Dean found a tiny bathroom joined with his room and spent a few long minutes under the heavy spray of pleasantly hot water, then got dressed, and made sure to pack his bag. There was a small scented bar of soap in the bathroom that he stuffed deep into his bag, looking around suspiciously as if trying to find anyone who could be watching him.

Initially, he planned to simply leave the room and find his way into the stable where he had left Impala. But then he thought about Cas and stopped in the middle of the shadowy corridor. He couldn’t just leave without saying anything, could he?

And then his stomach grumbled loudly and he rolled his eyes.

Eating some breakfast and looking for Cas to say goodbye couldn’t do much harm, right?

He passed several more corridors and then, after a few minutes, finally spotted someone coming his way. The angel looked like a kid, with light hair and a shy look in his eyes, but he smiled when he saw Dean.

“Hey there,” Dean said and the angel stopped mid-step, surprised Dean was actually talking to him.

“Hello…?”

“Yeah, hi.” Dean smiled encouragingly. “I’m looking for some kind of a… kitchen, maybe?”

“A kitchen?” the kid asked.

“Well, a place where I can maybe eat something before I leave?”

The angel started to smile gently. “You are Dean Winchester, aren’t you?”

“Uh. How do you know me?” Dean asked and wrinkled his nose. “Has Cas been spreading awful rumours about me already?”

The angel blinked at him slowly. “Cas?”

“Castiel,” Dean corrected himself quickly. “By the way, I’m looking for him, too, so if you know where he may be…”

“I think he’s in the canteen. At least that is where he was an hour ago.”

Dean didn’t say that a lot could happen in an hour, but instead he patted the young angel’s shoulder. “Thanks, uh…?”

“Samandriel,” the angel provided with a friendly smile.

“Thanks, Samandriel. I’m Dean, but you already know that.”

“I do,” he grinned.

Dean huffed a laugh. “Okay. So, the canteen. Can you tell me where it is?”

The angel nodded and showed him the way, which proved to be quite easy to remember. Dean just nodded and thanked him again. “I probably won’t see you again, so, just… bye, I guess,” he added.

“Goodbye, Dean Winchester,” Samandriel said with another friendly smile.

Dean turned away, smiling, and rolled his eyes. He didn’t really remember any angels from the previous night so he couldn’t say whether all of them were like Samandriel or not, but he had to admit they didn’t seem quite as bad as he had imagined.

But then again, Samandriel was just a kid. Probably wasn’t even very important. Dean couldn’t start absolving the whole angel race just because he happened to meet two nice angels.

He couldn’t hate them all, too, but he chose not to dwell on that too much and instead concentrate on getting to the canteen.

He found the wide white doors Samandriel had told him about after a few more minutes of walking, and he pushed them open without any hesitation, thinking that even if he didn’t find Castiel there, he could just pack some provisions and leave.

But the second he entered the room, he noticed a mop of dark hair and a slouched posture that could only belong to one person.

“Morning, Cas,” he said and smiled.

The angel lifted his head and looked at him, his face blank and pale, a silver spoon in his hand and a small bowl in front of him. He threw the spoon and stood up, still staring at Dean, who came closer, his own fingers clutching at the handle of his bag.

“Dean,” Castiel started, his voice strangely hushed.

Dean stopped just in front of him, unsure of what to do. He came here to say goodbye, they both knew that, but they spent the next moment just staring at each other. Finally, Dean cleared his throat and tore his gaze away from the angel.

“Uh, so. You probably won’t believe it, but I’m starving,” he said and sent a small grin Castiel’s way. “Promise you won’t tell anyone if I sneak out with some food?”

Cas’ eyes were still glued to him and Dean raised a questioning brow at him. The angel swallowed, his face turning even whiter than before. “Dean, I have to—”

But he didn’t have a chance to finish. Dean didn’t have a chance to pack any food, either, because then the doors on the other side of the room opened widely and in came the man.

He was tall and dark-haired, with an incredibly stiff posture and piercingly bright eyes. Eyes that were looking directly at Dean.

Before any of them could say anything, the angel strode towards Dean and shook his hand. Dean tried to back away, but the angel’s grasp was too strong.

“Dean Winchester,” he said, his voice low and raspy. “Welcome. I am honoured.”

Dean couldn’t help but snort. “You’re honoured?” He sneaked a quick glance at Cas who had stepped back, head hanging low and hands hidden behind his back. Exactly how many angels knew everything about him because of Cas’ babbling?

“Extremely,” the angel said and let go of his hand.

“Okay,” Dean said slowly. “And you are…?”

The angel’s eyes widened. “I’m Michael.”

Dean felt his stomach do a funny backflip. He took a slow, tiny step back. “ _The_ Michael?”

The angel laughed quietly and tilted his head in a gesture somehow similar to Castiel’s. “Oh, so you _have_ heard about me. I was beginning to worry.”

“It’d be hard not to hear about you. Plus, your brother here told me all I wanted to know. The same way he already told you about me, right?” Dean tried to send Cas an accusatory look, but the angel was still looking down at his own shoes.

“Oh, Castiel didn’t have to tell me anything,” Michael said with a smug smile.

“He… didn’t?”

“No. All he did was inform me he’s been travelling with Dean Winchester. It is an incredibly fortunate circumstance that we can meet here today. The fact that you came to the city exactly on the day when I came back from my battle definitely does not feel like a mere coincidence, don’t you think, Dean?”

Dean frowned, not sure how to interpret the angel’s words. All he understood was that Michael somehow knew him, and it sent a shower of cold sparks down his spine.

“Sorry, but… How do you know me, again?” he asked.

“You’re the Winchester,” Michael answered simply.

“So?” Dean balked.

Michael’s eyebrows knitted together delicately; Dean was sure he’d roll his eyes if he wasn’t trying to look so noble all the time.

“Your family isn’t exactly the most ordinary family, Dean, I’m sure you’re aware of that.”

“My family? What do you want with my family?” Dean’s shoulders tensed, his fists clenched where they hung loosely by his sides. Unlike some people, he wasn’t blinded by hatred towards Michael, but he’d get defensive every time someone tried to talk about his family, be it the great angel leader or anyone else.

“The Winchesters are a great bloodline, Dean. You, your father, his father, all the way back to the very beginnings,” Michael said, still smiling.

“What makes us such a great bloodline?” Dean hissed through clenched teeth. He felt shaken, endangered, vulnerable. Yes, there were people who knew them because of their hunting business, but this wasn’t just an ordinary person. The fact that he seemed to know so much about Dean’s family, probably more than Dean himself did, scared him in ways he couldn’t even explain.

But Michael just shook his head and smiled in such a condescending way that Dean’s blood pulsed loudly in his ears. “It is not the time nor the place to discuss your family tree, believe me,” he said slowly. “Just know, Dean, that I admire your devotion. I know you’re a good person and I really want to help you.”

In his peripheral vision, Dean noticed Castiel flinch as if he’d been struck. Instead of looking at him, though, he narrowed his eyes at Michael suspiciously.

“Help me? Help me with what?”

“I heard about your father,” the angel said in a low and soothing voice. Now it was Dean’s turn to jolt, shock and queasiness swelling deep in his gut.

“How?” he rasped.

“I told you, you’re quite a significant family.”

“What do you mean, you heard about my father?” Dean asked and took a slow step closer. “You heard _what_?”

“I heard he’s missing,” Michael said, his voice still as calm as at the beginning of their conversation. “I heard you’re looking for him. You’re a very good son, Dean, for doing that. I admire your actions immensely.”

Dean felt all the air escape his lungs for a few seconds. _Missing_. Michael – the angel Michael – said Dad was missing. He couldn’t be wrong, could he? If Michael, who seemed to know so much about his family, said that Dad was missing, then it had to be the truth, right?

There was still a chance. Up until this moment, Dean hadn’t even realised that such a great part of him was terrified with the thought that John could be dead. Gone forever. But now someone else believed he was somewhere out there, too, and Dean felt warm hope uncurl inside his chest.

“Michael,” someone said in a threatening voice and Dean looked up in time to see Castiel, his brows pinched and his bright eyes boring dangerously into the back of Michael’s head.

Michael didn’t even look back, just waved his hand dismissively. Suddenly two tall angels, dressed in heavy armours and with swords strapped to their sides, appeared at Castiel’s sides and grabbed his shoulders. Dean hadn’t even noticed them before and he blinked, surprised, looking from Cas to Michael to Cas again.

“We’ll talk later, brother,” Michael said calmly and Dean watched as Castiel, gently pushed by the guards, walked out of the room, his breakfast left unfinished on the table.

Dean wanted to protest, to ask what was going on, but when he looked back to Michael, the angel was already looking at him and he said, “I can help you find you father, Dean.”


	7. Chapter 7

For the second time within one week, Dean found himself in a close proximity to an angel who’d promised him to help in finding his dad.

Dean kept sneaking suspicious glances at Michael, who loitered around the room he’d brought Dean to almost half an hour ago, but even though everything still seemed a little weird, he couldn’t help but get his hopes up. Unlike Castiel, Michael was someone important. He was an angel leader, he had power, he had resources. Unlike Castiel, he didn’t ask Dean for anything in return, at least not yet. Michael’s offer didn’t seem like a desperate way to redeem himself.

A small voice in the back of his head tried to tell him that he didn’t even know Michael, _unlike Castiel_ , but he ignored it and kept waiting impatiently.

“Where’s your brother?” he asked casually after a few more idle moments, a part of him still unable to stop comparing Michael to Castiel and questioning his choices.

“Which one?” Michael looked back at him over his shoulder, elbow-deep in a closet full of some old rustling papers.

Dean raised his brow and Michael smiled knowingly.

“You mean Castiel, then,” he said.

“Who else?” Dean asked. “How many other brothers you have?”

“A lot,” Michael said good-humouredly.

“Huh,” Dean muttered and bit his lip. What did he even know about Castiel, anyway? He didn’t even know his family. He managed to learn more after half an hour spent with Michael than after a week spent with Castiel.

He felt conflicted.

“Finally,” Michael said, closed the cabinet doors, and moved towards the big table in the middle of the room with something that looked like a map in his hands.

“What’s that?” Dean asked, edging closer.

“It’s a map of our country. We’ll use it to find your father.”

Dean looked up at him. “How?”

“There’s a spell,” Michael answered calmly and unrolled the map on the table, then smoothed away any creases of the old parchment with his hands. “I’ve already gathered all the needed ingredients.” He gestured to a small wooden bowl sitting at the edge of the table. “All except one,” he added in a quiet voice. His gaze slid slowly over Dean’s body, stopped at his neck for a short second; then he finally made eye contact. He looked stern for the first time since Dean had first met him, determined and confident. Dean blinked, confused, and then Michael smiled at him and straightened up.

“What’s the last ingredient?” Dean asked, his brows furrowed and a feeling of unexplainable nausea starting to coil deep down in his stomach.

Michael’s eyes darted once more to his neck and Dean swallowed.

“Where’d you get that necklace?” Michael asked, his tone friendly enough for Dean to relax just a little bit.

“What?” He lifted his hand to touch the amulet hanging around his neck, a golden head with horns and strange ornamentation. “This? Sam gave it to me. My brother. It was a gift.”

“It’s very rare. And very powerful,” Michael informed him.

“Seriously?” Dean took the amulet off his neck and looked at it sceptically.

“Yes. You should really take good care of it. And today, it can help us determine your father’s location.”

“Just like that?” Dean asked.

Michael reached out, his palm open and waiting. Dean looked at the amulet for a few more seconds and then reluctantly placed it on the angel’s hand.

“It’s connected to your family,” Michael explained and turned to the map with his fingers clutching the string of the necklace. He grabbed the bowl with the other ingredients and moved his arm so that the hand with the amulet hung over the map.

Dean watched him closely, ready to jump into action and take his property back from the angel the second something went wrong. Michael closed his eyes and stiffened, looking more like a statue than a living person, with his tense shoulders and unmoving body. Only the amulet dangled slowly from his hand, back and forth, back and forth. Then Michael’s other hand covered the bowl and a strange chant fell from his lips, first barely a whisper, slowly getting louder and louder. Something in the bowl hissed and sparkled gold, and then Dean felt a rush of air over his face and suddenly huge white wings stretched out behind Michael’s back—puffed out, shining, glorious wings. His eyes opened and sparkled blue, an astonishingly bright colour growing lighter and lighter until it almost turned burning white.

Dean felt a wall behind his back and only then did he realise he’d been moving away quickly, his eyes glued to the glowing angel and his fists clenched painfully hard. His gaze snapped to the amulet in Michael’s hand and a breath caught in his throat when he saw it kept swaying furiously from side to side over the map.

And then, suddenly, it was over. Michael stopped chanting, his wings vanished with the last swipe of air over Dean’s face, and the amulet fell onto the map with a loud metallic clink.

Dean exhaled slowly. “What the hell,” he mumbled and realised he’d never seen an angel performing this kind of magic before.

He wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to experience it again anytime in the near future, though.

He slowly came back to the table, but Michael seemed preoccupied with the map and the place the amulet landed on. Dean had to clear his throat twice to get his attention.

“It worked,” Michael said when he finally looked up at him. He wasn’t smiling, but he looked victorious and excited, as if finding Dean’s father was the most important goal of his life.

“Great,” Dean said, unsure, and gestured to the map. “You know where my dad is, then?”

“I do.” The angel straightened up, smiling smugly, and then pointed to the point on the east of the map. “Here, far into our territory. There’s an old ruined castle there, it’s been abandoned for a very long time. You’ll need to go to the mountains and go through them until you reach that wasteland here. The ruins are somewhere in the middle of it, impossible to miss, really.”

Dean leant heavily on the table and followed Michael’s finger with his eyes. “Why would my father be in that castle?” he asked, frowning.

Michael looked at him with a serious expression. “I don’t know, Dean. But the spell can’t lie. I know you will find your father there.”

Dean said nothing, still staring at the weirdly blank spot on the map. He bit his lip. “What is that ‘wasteland’, anyway? Some kind of a desert?”

“You could say so,” Michael said, nodding. “Some time ago, there used to be a large forest there, but it was destroyed by a great fire. Now it’s empty and barren. We barely visit that place.”

Dean glanced at him. “And where are we now?” Michael pointed to a dot in the north centre of the country and Dean winced. “That’s more than three days, isn’t it?”

“At least twice as much,” Michael agreed. “Or more, since a journey through the mountains won’t be the easiest.”

Dean sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Fuck,” he muttered. He closed his eyes for a few moments. That morning, he had woken up being sure he’d be back home soon. He’d be back to his normal life, which he would spend hunting with his brother and his dad in between the boring, ordinary life in Lawrence. Now, he had a long journey into an unknown territory ahead of him and he wasn’t even completely sure he’d find what he was looking for.

He felt a hand on his shoulder; he opened his eyes and looked up at Michael.

“Look, Dean, I know it doesn’t seem easy,” the angel said, his voice calm. “But I assure you, the spell can’t be wrong. I’m certain your amulet showed me exactly what I wanted to find.”

“It’s just… weird,” Dean murmured. “I know Dad is determined, but he’s never wandered this far before. And what if he moves before I can get to him?”

Michael handed his necklace over to him and Dean closed his fingers around it, feeling a strange warmth seeping from the headpiece.

“There’s another spell,” the angel said. “It’ll help you track your father even if he’s not in the castle anymore. It will make the amulet burn hot in your father’s proximity.”

Dean stared at Michael for a few long seconds. “Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?”

Michael smiled, a slow turning up of the corners of his mouth, and his clear eyes glinted. Dean felt a shiver run down his spine, but didn’t turn his gaze.

“I told you,” the angel said smoothly. “I know you care for your family. You’re determined to find your father, no matter what. I admire that. You’re a very good son, Dean. And I can relate to that.”

Dean raised his eyebrow, a bit surprised at the pride in Michael’s voice, but didn’t delve into that any longer. He straightened up and hung the amulet around his neck again.

“Alright, then,” he said. “I guess I need to get ready for the road.”

 

***

 

Dean smoothed out the brown leather tunic and marvelled at its velvety feel and the obvious firmness. Compared to his own coat, now discarded on the bed, this one would not only be more comfortable during the long hours on horseback, but also it’d keep him warmer. The angels knew their fabrics, Dean had to admit it.

The chainmail was surprisingly light when he lifted it, the silver rings small and shiny. He usually didn’t wear such things, even when out hunting, but he supposed it wouldn’t hurt him now, especially since he was about to go into the unknown angel territory all by himself. Even if angels wouldn’t attack him—probably—there was no guarantee he wouldn’t encounter some demon forces plundering the far ends of the country. He had to be prepared for every possibility, and the fact that Michael offered his help and presented him with the much better armour could only be counted as an advantage.

He put the chainmail over his head. It covered his shoulders and a part of his chest and somehow he didn’t even feel its weight. Satisfied, he reached for a leather belt and stood in front of a tall mirror to wrap it around his middle and buckle it tight. There was a loop on the left side of it that would be perfect for a sword if he had one; unfortunately, his own blade was too small to wear it there.

He was just sliding one of the leather bracers onto his wrist when there was a knock on the door. Dean stopped, looked at the door in the mirror, then turned away, brows furrowing.

“Come in?” he called, uncertain.

The door handle twitched down and Dean saw Castiel’s dark mop of hair, then his pale face, and then the whole of him. The angel came inside and closed the door behind him with a quiet click.

Dean kept squinting at him.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said in a flat voice.

“Hey,” Dean answered carefully, then turned back to the mirror to finish putting on his clothes. He focused on the buckles on his bracers, but couldn’t stop himself from glancing in the mirror at Castiel, still standing stiffly by the door. “What’s up?” he asked finally, irritated by the silence.

He realised it was probably the last time they’d see each other and didn’t know why he suddenly felt like throwing up.

Maybe he’d fastened the belt a little too tight.

He looked at Cas once again and caught him staring at him with his face stern and white.

“You okay, Cas?” he asked and looked over his shoulder. He noticed the angel was armoured up, too: his arms and collar covered with metal, the long leather tunic underneath, tied with a narrow belt and with a sword hanging from the loophole. He looked kind of impressive. Ready for the road. “Cas?” Dean asked again, turning slowly on his heel to fully face him.

Castiel straightened up a bit more. “Michael told me you’re leaving,” he said and stared into Dean’s eyes for a few seconds before darting his gaze away. “To look for… your father.”

“Yeah,” Dean said and took a small step closer. “He did some kind of spell or something. I don’t really know. But apparently my amulet is connected to my family and with some right words it showed us where my dad is.”

Castiel still didn’t look at him. “In the ruins,” he said.

“In the ruins.” Dean nodded. “It’s a hell of a journey so I should leave as soon as I can. I’m almost ready.”

“Good,” Cas said and then moved his head to bore his eyes into Dean’s. “Me, too.”

Dean balked. “Sorry?”

“I’m ready, too,” Castiel repeated. “I also brought you something. The last piece to your new armour.”

He held out his hand and Dean looked down, still a little taken aback at the news.

“What—” He stopped and stared at the long sword Cas was offering to him. He took it gently and glanced at Cas. “For me?”

“Yes.”

“Whoa,” Dean breathed in and slowly unsheathed the sword. It wasn’t anything too special; the blade, the pommel, and the cross were bright and silver, with the blade a dash lighter than the rest of it. The handle was even paler, a pretty mix of creamy and ivory. Dean brought the sword closer to his eyes and only then did he notice the small flowery adornment on the blade. “Uh. Thanks,” he muttered, slid the sword back into its sheath, and gripped it hard with his fingers. He looked at it for a moment longer and then his eyes snapped back to Cas.

The angel was already staring back at him.

Dean licked his lips. “You’re coming with me?” he finally asked.

Cas’ stare didn’t waiver. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“It’s a long journey. It can also be dangerous. It would be unwise for you to travel alone.”

Dean had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Okay, but why you?”

Castiel didn’t even blink. “Michael’s orders.”

Dean gulped and stepped back. “Oh. So… okay. He told you to go with me.”

“Yes.”

Dean felt his stomach do an unpleasant backflip. Suddenly, he was angry. “What if I don’t want you to go?” he asked, his face scrunched up and his shoulders tense. Cas didn’t react, just looked away and stood there, unmoving, like a statue. Dean had saved him. He’d risked so much to help him. He’d even agreed to come all this way to this city. Castiel had promised he’d help him find Dad and now he was going to do it—but not because of his own good will or a sense of moral duty, but because his leader and older brother ordered him to.

Castiel didn’t even look like he himself wanted to go.

“I don’t care what Michael says,” Dean said bitterly and turned away. “You don’t have to go with me if you don’t want to. I won’t force you.”

“I’m going with you,” Castiel said stubbornly.

“Did you hear what I just said?” Dean bit out. “Michael’s not my superior, I don’t have to listen to him. If I want to go alone, I will. I don’t need anyone else.”

“Stop talking and get ready,” Cas snapped and Dean caught sight of him in the mirror one more time before he disappeared behind the closed door. The angel’s face was hard and distant, and Dean was suddenly reminded of the way Castiel used to look at him with the same distrust and unfamiliarity in his eyes on the very first day they had talked to each other, back in Dean’s house, with Cas half-dead in his bed.

Now, apparently, after Dean had done everything he’d promised to do, Castiel could go back to being a complete stranger again.

Suddenly, the idea of a week-long journey in the company of the angel seemed even worse than before.

 

***

 

They spent most of the first night of their journey on horseback, especially since they took off only long after noon and felt quite well-rested. Or, at least Dean did—he really didn’t know how Castiel felt. They didn’t really talk much.

Sometime before the dawn, they stopped their horses and laid their blankets on the grass—Castiel had his own blanket now, probably another gift from his brother. Dean made a fire and Castiel prepared their meal: potatoes with herbs and dried meat that he took out of his bag. Then he offered Dean some herbal tea leaves out of a small leather pouch, but Dean refused, turned over, and fell asleep.

When he woke up, Castiel was sitting in the exact place Dean had seen him before; the sun still wasn’t up, but he could see the darkness getting chased away by the bright colours appearing on the east.

“You wanna sleep?” Dean asked and rubbed his eyes.

“I’m fine,” Castiel said, and stood up without so much as a glance Dean’s way.

Dean shrugged and got up to pack his things, too.

He wasn’t stupid. He could see Castiel wished to be anywhere but on the road with him and he tried not to blame him—but it was hard, especially when Cas couldn’t even look at him when he talked to him.

“I believe there’s an inn near the foothill of the mountains, about two days journey from here. If we hurry, we can spend the third night there.”

“Okay,” Dean drawled, squinting at the sun. “If you want.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Castiel responded stiffly.

Dean sent an angry stare his way. “What do you mean, it doesn’t matter? We’re in this together, man. And I’m not your freaking leader or anything.”

“But I have no preference over the places we stay during the night,” Castiel said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And I know you like inns.”

Dean snorted. “I’d rather sleep in a bed than on the cold ground, yes. But I’ll live without it if it means I can find my dad sooner rather than later.”

Castiel stiffened in his saddle. “If you say so.”

Dean stared at him for a few long seconds and realised the angel hadn’t even looked at him throughout their whole conversation. He shook his head. “God, you’re a dick these days,” he sighed irritably.

Castiel didn’t say anything, just raised his head and stared at the blue sky, his face completely unreadable.

 

***

 

The first time Dean actually started to worry was during their second night on the road. Dean was trying to sleep, but somehow the fire seemed too bright, the cicadas too loud, and the angel’s presence on the other side of the hearth – too distracting. Once more, Castiel offered to stay up and stand guard, but Dean could see he wasn’t really observing their surroundings, but instead kept staring at his sword and brushing his fingers against its steel. Then he put it back into its sheath and started to squirm in his seat, huffing and making weird sounds.

Dean opened one eye and peeked at him over the flames.

Castiel had taken off his leather tunic together with the metal bracers and the collar and now was struggling to undo the strings of his white shirt. Dean huffed quietly and covered his eyes with his arm to keep himself from staring.

But then the air around them shifted and Dean knew what had happened. For a few moments, he lay where he was, unmoving, and then he gave up, lifted his arm, and glanced at the angel one more time.

Just as he’d thought, Castiel’s wings were extended behind the arch of his back, as wide and high as he dared to stretch them. He was turned away so that Dean had a perfect view of his side and one of the wings, and Dean took the opportunity that he couldn’t see him to shamelessly drink in the scene. A weird feeling appeared somewhere deep in his gut and he curled his fingers into the blanket to stop himself from reaching out and touching the black feathers.

The feeling turned sour when he realised Cas’ wings looked somewhat different from when he had last seen them: even though it seemed all feathers were in place now, they were rough-looking and dull, and they lacked their previous shine. Dean narrowed his eyes and lifted his head a little for a better view and a breath stuck in his throat when he noticed the weird bluish glow tinting the tips of some of the longer feathers.

Cas’ head snapped around and the angel looked at him, alarmed.

Dean lifted his upper body from the blanket and propped himself on his elbow. “What the hell is that?” he asked and pointed at the wings.

Castiel turned away, hiding them behind his back, his face and chest incredibly white in the dark. “Nothing,” he said.

Dean half expected Cas would make the wings disappear to stop Dean from looking at them, but all the angel did was lower them onto the ground so that the feathers were inelegantly spread over the tall grass.

“Nothing?” Dean asked and stretched his neck to look around Cas. He could still see the faint blue light peeking at him through the grass. “Your wings are glowing and you call it nothing? They’ve never done that before.”

“It is none of your concern,” Castiel nearly growled and Dean’s attention snapped back to his face.

“Hey, easy,” he said. He sat up and lifted his hands to show Cas he had no bad intentions. Just like on their first days, he thought. “I’m just curious.”

He could swear Castiel’s whole posture slumped and his wings dulled even more, making the bright blue light stand out.

“Can I take a look at them?” Dean asked after a beat.

“No,” Castiel barked; his shoulders tensed.

Dean noticed his wings had moved as well, smearing some of the blueness on the ground.

He frowned. “Dude, something’s not right with ‘em,” he said slowly.

“Just… don’t,” Castiel choked out.

Dean raised his eyes from the wings to Cas’ eyes. “Cas—”

“Please, Dean,” the angel begged, his voice tight, his eyes never leaving Dean’s.

Dean pursed his lips. “Why can’t I just check on them? I’ve already done it before. You know I won’t hurt them.”

“I don’t want you to check on them,” Castiel said stubbornly.

“Yeah, that’s what you said last time, but it didn’t stop me,” Dean said and started to stand up.

“Dean,” Castiel warned him and also got to his feet. His wings dangled lifelessly behind him, their tips grazing the grass, leaving blue stripes all over the place.

Dean made a face. “Fuck, man. Just look at it. It’s like something’s… leaking out of them.”

Castiel’s eyes stayed on Dean’s face and he made a step back at the same time Dean took a tentative step in his direction.

“Go back to sleep, Dean,” he said, his voice barely audible.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Cas,” Dean repeated. “I’m just worried.”

“Well, don’t be. I’m fine. Just leave me alone.”

“Cas, I can see something’s wrong! You’ve been off since we left the city and now your wings—”

“I told you,” Castiel growled, his eyes dangerously bright, “to leave my wings alone.”

They managed to move away from the fire during their talk and suddenly Dean bent over to examine the spot of blue Cas’ wings had left in their wake. It seemed to be shining despite the fact that it was almost completely dark around them, and Dean hesitated only for a moment before he reached out and touched it with his finger. He felt something cold and almost intangible on his skin and then the weird substance dissolved right before his eyes.

“Uh,” he uttered and straightened up in time to see Cas’ wings vanishing in a similar fashion.

The angel stood tense and unemotional in front of him, his jaw and hands clenched tightly. Dean felt an unpleasant cold make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end, but he forced himself to keep his eyes glued to Castiel.

“Cas, I’m—”

“Go to sleep,” the angel whispered. Dean’s stomach dropped at the icy tone of his voice, but he didn’t move, determined to see through Cas’ walls.

“I’m not tired,” he said.

Finally, Cas looked away, his chest heaving as if he had just run a mile.

Dean kept watching him. “I’ll stand guard,” he said. “You go to sleep.”

Cas’ lower lip trembled, but he nodded and passed by Dean on his way to his blanket. Dean closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, his stomach tightening painfully.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he breathed out and rubbed a hand over his face. He could almost feel Castiel’s distress and he suddenly wished he could do anything to make it go away. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay,” he heard and when he turned away, he saw Castiel lying curled up on his side. His eyes were open, though, and looking at Dean. “I’m sorry, too.”

Dean had no idea what Castiel could be apologising for, but he let it drop for now.

At least they were talking again.

Sort of.

 

***

 

Something had shifted between them—they still kept mostly quiet during their ride the next day, but at least now the silence wasn’t full of anger and irritation but rather of awkwardness and hesitation. Dean couldn’t help but go back to the thoughts of Castiel’s wings, but he could also feel the angel’s discomfort and didn’t say anything about them.

But he still knew there were too many unresolved things between them and he couldn’t ignore them for too much longer.

“What would you be doing now if you weren’t travelling with me?” he asked when the afternoon sun began to slip off the sky to the horizon. He tried to keep his voice light and watched Cas out of the corner of his eye.

“Probably preparing for a battle or fighting in one,” the angel answered after a few seconds of silence.

“Wow, you guys sure are busy,” Dean commented.

“The war is our priority.”

“Yeah, I get it.” He occupied himself with brushing his fingers through Impala’s mane and then said, “Sorry for keeping you away from your duties, then.”

He didn’t dare to look at Cas, didn’t want to see a scowl or a grimace that was bound to appear on his face.

“This is my duty, too,” Cas said.

Dean still felt the stab of his words even though he wasn’t looking at him.

“Right,” he muttered and then sighed. “Couldn’t you refuse, though?”

“Refuse what?” Cas asked and he sounded so genuinely confused that Dean lifted his head to glance at him.

“Refuse to go with me. You could be doing something more important now,” Dean said. Apparently, he had absolutely no self-preservation and he kept digging just to hear one more time that Cas was on the mission and that there was no other reason.

“This _is_ important,” the angel said.

“Right. Michael’s orders.”

“Yes.”

“But why you?”

Castiel’s horse stopped suddenly when the angel tugged at his reins. “Why me _what_ , Dean?” he asked, frustration in his voice.

Dean stopped, too. “Why did Michael order _you_ to go with me?”

“Who else?” Castiel raised both his eyebrows at him.

“I don’t know, anyone?” Dean shrugged and averted his eyes. “It’s just—I’m wondering—”

“Yes, Dean, tell me, what are you wondering? Because it appears I am at a loss here.”

Dean snorted. “Never mind. Let’s just keep going,” he said, a huge lump in his throat. Cas was here because he had no other choice, that was it, and Dean should finally stop making a big fuss out of it—it’s not like they were such great friends, it’s not like Cas cared—

“Dean, wait—”

“No, forget it. It doesn’t matter.”

“You’re upset. Why are you upset?”

“I’m not upset.”

“Yes, you are. You’ve been upset ever since we started this journey—”

“Yeah, well, right back at ya,” Dean called over his shoulder and then winced at the apparent irritation in his own voice.

For a moment, all he could hear was the sound of Impala’s hooves on the road, and then Castiel’s horse sped up and rode up to him.

“I told you already,” Castiel barked and Dean looked up at him, surprised. “The road to the ruins can be dangerous and it would be foolish to let you go on your own, so Michael asked me to accompany you. Is that so difficult to understand?”

“He could’ve asked anyone,” Dean grumbled.

“He asked me because I was the only one who knew you!”

“But you didn’t even want to go!” Dean fired back.

Castiel blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Well, do you? Your goal was to find your brother, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, and I did find him,” Cas answered slowly.

“But he didn’t help you with your wings!” Dean said and watched Cas stiffen in his saddle again. “And that was why you needed him, right? So I know you wouldn’t want to help me find Dad because you still have to heal yourself!”

“I do want to help you find your father,” Cas said. “That’s why I’m here. I promised I would help you find him.”

“But only after you’re healed!” Dean waved his hand in the general direction of Cas’ back. “And you’re freaking _not_. So why did you agree to go with me if you’re still not okay? Why wouldn’t Michael help you first?”

“He’ll… help me later,” Cas said through gritted teeth.

Dean stared at him for a moment. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“He will. He’ll help me heal,” Cas insisted, but suddenly he wasn’t able to look at Dean anymore. “And now I have to help you.”

“What, was it some kind of an ultimatum? First, you’ll help me, and then he’ll give you back your powers in return? What kind of brother is he?”

Cas didn’t answer.

“And anyway,” Dean continued, too confused to stop talking now, “why does he even care, huh? About me and my dad? I still don’t really get it. What’s in it for him? Or for you?”

“There’s nothing in it for me,” Castiel said. “We just want to help you.”

His voice was too hollow for Dean to believe him, so instead he pushed his heels into Impala’s sides and ran ahead of them to try and clear his head.

 

***

 

They stopped at the inn Castiel had talked about before and rented two separate rooms—Dean told himself it was because they could afford it now, after Michael had provided them with everything they’d need, and not because of their weird relation. They left their baggage upstairs and went down to order something to eat and drink.

They were just finishing their first beers when two strange men with their own drinks asked if they could sit with them as there were no free tables in the inn anymore. When they drank their second beers, the men—Rufus and Martin, older inhabitants of the nearest human village who were visiting the angel territory to trade—offered to buy them another round. Dean accepted it with a wide grin, while Cas just shook his head and then continued to listen to them, stayed mostly quiet, and only answered several direct questions.

Dean bought everyone their fourth beer, including Cas, even though he tried to protest, and promptly learned his new friends used to be hunters some time ago.

“No shit,” he said, and couldn’t stop smiling. “I’m a hunter, too.”

“What!” Rufus yelled, excited. “A hunter!”

“Cheers!” Martin said and raised his glass.

Dean bumped his own beer against theirs. “Yeah. Actually, my whole family’s hunting,” he said.

“Really?” Rufus inquired. “Where’d you say you were from?”

“Lawrence.”

“Do you know Bobby Singer?” the man asked.

Dean’s smile widened. “Do I know him? He practically raised me!”

Rufus and Martin yelled with delight and then Martin leant over the table to look at him more closely.

“Is there any possibility,” he was starting to slur a little, “that we know your family?”

“I don’t know.” Dean shrugged but kept smiling. Then he pointed his thumb at Cas sitting silently by his side. “But his brother, you know, a major angel guy, said even he knows about me. So, who knows?” He sipped his beer and ignored the way Castiel seemed to send him deadly glares, then extended his hand to the men. “Winchester.”

They crowed happily, confirming that yes, they did know the name, and Dean couldn’t help but feel a little proud at their shouts.

But then Rufus’ face became more serious and he shook his head. “My condolences, son.”

Dean frowned, then huffed a laugh. “Oh, come on, the job’s not _that_ bad!” The laugh died on his tongue when he saw Martin smile ruefully, too. “Guys, am I missing something here?”

“We’re sorry about your old man, Dean,” Martin said and took a sip of his beer.

Dean shifted in his chair, confused. “What—what do you know about my father?”

The men in front of him exchanged weird looks and Dean’s stomach clenched. Instead of letting the feeling consume him, he kept on talking. “You mean that my dad’s missing? Yeah, I’m actually on my way to him.”

“On your way?” Rufus asked, surprised. “Where?”

Dean wanted to answer, but his mouth closed on its own accord. Feeling even more anxious, he glanced at Cas, wishing he’d see him as confused as he was. But the angel looked as if he was about to be sick and Dean felt his throat go dry.

“My God. I don’t think the poor kid knows,” Rufus said, shocked.

“But that’s tragic,” Martin added, his voice a mixture of terror and awe.

“The hell are you talking about?” Dean griped, his fingers painfully clutching his glass and his heart beating out a frantic staccato.

Rufus looked Dean directly in the eye. “John Winchester’s dead, son. He and a hundred other people are dead,” he said slowly and then suddenly pointed a finger at Cas, “all because of your dear angel friend here.”

Dean looked at Cas, bewildered, not really understanding what was happening around him. The angel’s eyes were wide and he made a move as if he wanted to stand up, but Dean put a hand on his shoulder and kept him in place, all without realising.

“He’s not dead,” he said slowly, turning to the men again. “He’s missing. I’m looking for him.”

“Well, go look in the cemetery,” Martin commented, “though I doubt there was even anything left of him to bury—”

Rufus elbowed him in the ribs. “Shut up, you moron. Son, you heard about the massacre in the village, right?” he asked, looking at Dean with concern in his dark eyes.

Dean realised he still had his hand on Castiel’s shoulder, fingers gripping the material of his tunic as if looking for anything to support himself, but he let his hand slide onto the table again and nodded, unable to form words.

“Well, far as I know… John Winchester was there among other people when the angels wiped the village clean.”

Something was wrong with Dean’s sight because suddenly everything was flying in front of his eyes, the men’s faces blurring into one. Dean looked blindly for his beer and gulped all of it at once, hoping it would help. The room stopped swimming, but he still felt dizzy, and he looked at Cas, helpless and scared and unbelieving.

But he wasn’t even able to meet Cas’ eyes because suddenly the angel stood up, almost knocking over his chair, and ran away from the table. All Dean could do was scramble after him, his head reeling and his guts clenching unpleasantly.

Somehow he managed to climb up the stairs and he blindly followed Cas into his room. Things had finally stilled around him and he could swear all alcohol had evaporated out of his organism over the course of those two frantic minutes.

“Cas?” he asked tentatively, closed the door behind him, and stepped inside the dark room.

The angel stood in the middle of it, unmoving, his face white and stony, his eyes trained on Dean.

And then, Dean’s heart stopped.

“You knew,” he said.

Castiel didn’t answer and Dean surprised himself by laughing out loud, a short, bitter sound coming out of his mouth.

“Oh, God. You knew. You fucking knew my dad is—” Dean couldn’t finish the sentence, just continued staring at Cas, who finally averted his gaze and swallowed visibly. Dean felt his legs buckle under him and he sat heavily on the bed. “Oh my God,” he whispered. He ran his hands through his hair. “Oh my God. I can’t believe it. I can’t—”

“I’m so sorry, Dean.”

The words were said softly, quietly, and Dean looked up at the angel, startled. “Sorry?” He could see the sadness and regret in Castiel’s eyes, even in the dark room. “You’re _sorry_?” he asked incredulously. “You’re gonna need a bigger word than ‘sorry’, you spineless son of a bitch! You—you killed—”

Dean bent over himself, breathing heavily, his eyes scrunched up so tight he could see red. But then he heard Cas shuffle closer and he immediately straightened up and noticed Cas’ outstretched hand.

“Don’t you fucking touch me,” he growled.

“Dean, I—I had no idea—”

“Oh no.” Dean stood up so quickly his head swam, but he ignored it. “No, you knew. I know you did. I can see it, you son of a bitch.”

Castiel winced and looked away. “I know now, but I didn’t—”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Dean demanded harshly.

“I—I couldn’t—”

“Yes, you could! All you needed to do was to just fucking open your mouth and tell me!” Dean said and then, suddenly, he froze. “Cas. Where are we going?” he asked.

Castiel stared at him, frowning. “What do you—”

“If my dad’s gone,” Dean said, his tone completely flat now, “then where the fuck are we going?”

Cas moved back a few steps, eyes wide and pleading. “I’m sorry, I can’t—I can’t—”

“What does Michael want with me?” Dean asked quietly. “What do _you_ want with me?”

“Nothing! I swear I don’t—”

“Stop. Lying!” Dean burst out. “You killed my father and now what? You wanna kill me, too?”

“I didn’t kill your father, Dean!” Castiel replied, raising his voice as well. “I didn’t even know about it until Michael—”

“How couldn’t you know? How couldn’t you _tell me_? God, I can’t believe I trusted you!”

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, but Dean raised his hand.

“Stop talking,” he barked. “I don’t want anything to do with you. We’re done.”

“Dean—”

“We’re done.”

He turned away and headed towards the door. There was a loud hissing sound in his ears and his vision seemed to be getting blurry again, but he didn’t care. His lungs felt as if they were contracting in on themselves and he needed to get out of there, _now_.

“Dean, where are you going?” Castiel called after him.

“Away from you.”

“Dean, stop. It wasn’t my fault!” He could hear the desperation in his voice, but he ignored it. But then he heard his footsteps run after him and felt his hand fall onto his shoulder and his body reacted on its own, whirling in place and punching Cas straight in the face.

“Get the fuck away from me,” he growled and left the room.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean’s knuckles hurt and he concentrated on that. He massaged them with his other hand and wanted to relive the punch again, to think about the way it had felt so good to hit something, to hit _someone_ , to stop his hands from tugging at his own hair in panic. His fingers still twitched, anxious and impatient, but the only thing in his proximity was a wide trunk of a tree he stood under. He could already imagine the red that would appear on his skin after punching that tree, he could almost feel the stinging pain, the pain that would soon disappear. Too soon. Not enough.

Dean stood outside of the inn. He could just go back in and drink himself stupid, but would it actually make anything better? He really didn’t want to talk with anyone at the moment. Not with the bartender, not with other guests, not with Castiel.

He felt restless and hopeless and he didn’t know what to do. Should he just go back home? Should he go back to Michael and… do something? But was there anything he could do?

Unconsciously, he headed towards the stable. It took him a while to find Impala among the other horses, but then his fingers sank into her mane and her familiar smell almost made him choke with longing. Impala neighed quietly when he buried his face in her neck, almost like a whisper. He wrapped his arms around her, savouring the warmth pouring out of her. He felt unwanted tears prickle at his eyes and he wiped them off angrily and cursed under his breath. Impala looked at him questioningly and all he could do was caress her nose, his throat too tight to even say anything.

Before he could get a grip, he heard some noises in the stable as three men stumbled inside, talking loudly through their drunkenness. Dean leant over Impala, kissed her head, and smiled when her ears twitched happily.

“You did good, Baby,” he whispered. “But now we’re going home.”

The ache in his chest started to become duller and duller the closer to the inn he got. He ignored the merry drinking that still took place on the ground floor and slowly climbed the stairs, his head hung low and his eyes unseeing.

But when he reached the door to his room, something heavy hit him in the head and he stopped seeing altogether.

 

***

 

When he regained consciousness, the first thing he noticed was a rough material tied over his mouth, making breathing difficult and speaking impossible. He looked around frantically and, thanks to the small olive lamp on the near bedside table, he could recognise the room as one of the rooms in the inn, very similar to his own. But before he could notice anything else, he felt a blow to his stomach and he bent over himself, gagging. His legs and wrists were tied, too, and for a moment he didn’t even dare to move, struggling to hear anything outside of his small and heavy breaths.

“There, there. Will you please behave yourself?” someone asked and Dean snapped his head up, only to be hit straight across the face. “Hey! Stop that!”

He heard rustling and forced himself to open his eyes, even though he could feel warm blood trail down his face from the cut on his eyebrow.

Two men stood in front of him, one of them dragging the other one away from Dean and the latter with a red stain on his clenched fist. Dean stared at them, unblinking, trying to recognise their faces.

“He’s not your punching bag, man,” said the man who had also been talking before.

“Fuck you! Why not?” the other hissed and glanced at Dean.

Dean stared back.

“Because we have more important things to do.”

“But he’s lookin’ at us funny!”

“Stop being a dickwad and bring me my bag.”

The man huffed but obliged and left the room, and Dean couldn’t deny himself the satisfaction of boring his eyes into him and making him curse under his breath.

The door closed behind him and Dean tried to move his hands behind his back. The man that was still in the room—the shorter one, with lighter hair—didn’t pay him any attention; he went to the other side of the room instead and Dean took that opportunity to look around himself more closely and to try to see anything that could help him understand the situation.

He noticed that the short man was bent over something, and after a few long seconds his brain caught up with his eyes and he felt his heart freeze in his chest.

 _Cas_ , he wanted to say, but all he managed was to mumble a sound that attracted the man’s attention back to him.

“Ah, yeah. Sorry for that,” he said spitefully and sent a cruel smile Dean’s way.

But Dean ignored him completely, his eyes trained on the dark form lying on the floor a few feet away from him, face-down and unmoving. He skated his eyes over Castiel’s body, but couldn’t see anything because of the darkness of the room and the fact that only Cas’ back and his legs were visible to Dean.

Cold sweat started to gather over Dean’s face. He tried to scream but his voice was muffled by the gag still in his mouth. He kicked his legs, hit the floor with his heels as hard as he could, but he knew that even if someone would hear him downstairs, they’d probably think someone was having too much fun in one of the bedrooms and simply ignore it.

The other man came back just when Dean started to crawl over to where Cas lay, with his feet up front and hands trying to gain some balance behind his back.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’?” the man drawled, caught him by his shoulders, and threw him back at the wall. Dean’s head collided with it painfully and he swore he could actually see stars. The man was a lot taller and heavier than the other one, and it took Dean a while to be able to force his eyes open again to glare at him.

“Leave him alone and come here with that bag!” the short one called from where he was crouched by Castiel.

Left to himself again, Dean blinked a few times, trying to clear his head and think of something, _anything_ he could do, but his eyes snapped to the angel and the two strangers, currently taking some long crooked knives out of the bag. Panic flooded his head and Dean shut his eyes and pressed his wrists against the rope tied around them, disregarding the rough way the rope rubbed his skin and set it on fire. He was afraid to look Cas’ way, but he couldn’t bear not watching him. The men slid closer to Cas, talking in hushed voices, and Dean screamed again, trying to get their attention.

“Ignore him,” the short man said.

“Maybe he wants to join us!” the other one crowed happily. “He’s a hunter, right, Trenton?”

“Yeah. A Winchester. Don’t really like his family, but let’s leave it for now.” Suddenly, Dean noticed something in his peripheral vision and his heart beat faster when he realised it was Castiel’s bag. “That one’s what’s most important now.”

The taller man still kept looking at him instead of focusing all his attention on Cas, so Dean tried not to stare too much at the bag and pretend he was still too alarmed at what was going to happen to the angel.

“Yeah. You hear that, Winchester? This is what you should be doing! Killing ‘em, not fucking ‘em!”

Dean slid slowly in the direction of the bag, a movement so small the man didn’t notice anything even though he was still glancing at him now and then, a big ugly smile on his face.

“Shit, Creedy, shut the fuck up,” Trenton hissed at him.

“You shut up. We should teach him a thing or two!”

“Later, when we’re done with this one.”

Fortunately, the bag wasn’t too far away from him and there was a bed blocking out Dean’s right side from the men’s view. They were currently closing in on Castiel and pushing at his sides with their hands and Dean, his heart loud in his ears, took that opportunity to slide the bag closer to himself, his arms outstretched uncomfortably behind his back.

Creedy stood up and started to pace the room. Dean sat back immediately.

“Can we at least tell him what we’re doing, Cole?” the man asked, restless.

The shorter man—Cole Trenton—looked at him over his shoulder.

“Jesus, Creedy, I’m never working with you again!”

“It means we can.” Creedy smiled widely and came closer to Dean.

Dean kept his eyes on Cas, who had been lifted and propped up on the wall behind his back. His eyes were closed, hair messy and wet, face almost grey, with a splotch of red covering the side of his head.

Creedy followed Dean’s eyes. “See, Winchester, your angel buddy killed Cole’s daddy,” he said in a low voice.

Dean stared at him wordlessly, trying not to move too much as his hands looked through one of the bag’s pockets. He ignored the way Creedy’s words seemed to hit much too close to home and wished he could open his mouth and spit at the smug smile on the man’s face.

Cas hadn’t killed anyone. He couldn’t have. Not Cas.

It wasn’t Cas that had killed Dean’s father. Cas wasn’t responsible for his brother’s mistakes. Cas didn’t deserve all the shit he got, first from Dean and now from these psychos.

Dean only hoped he would get another opportunity to tell him that.

With that thought in his head, his fingers closed over the cold hilt of Castiel’s knife, one of the two he had found in the stolen bag so long ago and apparently decided to take them with him despite his new sword.

Dean had never been so in favour of stealing before.

He gingerly took the knife out of the pocket and hit his heels against the floor again, which made Creedy’s eyes focus back on him.

“Damn, you really wanna take part in it, don’t you?” he snarled.

Dean cursed him through the material over his mouth and the knife managed to cut through the rope over his wrists.

“Hey, Creedy, look. He’s waking up,” Trenton said and Dean moved his head to stare at Cas.

The angel’s eyes flew open and he immediately looked over at Dean.

“Give me that knife!” Trenton called and Dean watched as Castiel’s eyes grew wider, staring at the blade in Creedy’s hands.

He struggled, his hands free but still hidden behind his back, feet kicking the floor as hard as he could and muffled words continuing to fall out of his lips. Creedy growled and marched over to him, the knife already in Trenton’s hand.

Dean glued his eyes to Cas.

“Shut the fuck up!” Creedy hissed.

Cas looked pale and terrified and Dean started to crawl towards him, heart trying to jump out of his chest and knife clutched between his sweaty fingers. Then Creedy’s punch landed directly on his face and Dean bent over for a second. He straightened again when he heard Cas’ voice.

“Don’t touch him!”

Creedy grabbed Dean’s shoulder and hit him in the stomach with so much force that it left Dean breathless for a moment. But then Trenton swiped his knife over the exposed skin of Cas’ neck and Dean saw red.

He jumped up and lurched at Creedy and the knife slid into his side with ease. Creedy yelled and pushed him off. Dean lost his balance, his ankles still tied together, and fell heavily on the floor. He heard Castiel’s shouts but couldn’t react because suddenly Creedy was all over him, his large fists hitting his head from both sides.

He could barely see anything apart from Creedy’s furious face, but he managed to lift his knees, push them forcefully into his back, and topple him to the side. He had a few seconds to at least try to cut the rope around his legs, but it was enough to loosen it a little and then he was lunging at Creedy and putting the knife to his throat.

“I wouldn’t,” he heard Trenton say and looked up to see him do the same to Castiel.

Cas’ eyes were big and dark blue and Dean froze. That was all it took for Creedy to push him off again, but Dean scrambled to his feet, eyes never leaving Castiel.

“Put the knife down,” Trenton said.

“Dean, no—” Cas started to say, but the man sank his blade into his arm, silencing him.

Dean dropped his knife to the floor.

Creedy started to smile horribly; even Trenton looked away from Castiel for a few seconds.

And that was all it took for Cas to wrench the knife out of his hands and stand up. Shocked, Dean watched as the angel pushed Trenton into the wall and stabbed the knife directly into his chest, pulling a quiet grunt out of his mouth. Before Dean could realise what was happening, Cas took it out and turned on his heel to face them.

Without thinking, Dean caught Creedy by his shoulders and pushed him in Castiel’s direction. He closed his eyes when he felt the angel thrust the knife into Creedy’s body, then pushed it off himself. Breathing heavily, he leant on the wall.

He only opened his eyes when he felt Cas’ cold fingers touch his face.

“Are you alright?” the angel asked and Dean nodded soundlessly. He wanted to reach up and take the gag out of his mouth, but Castiel beat him to it, lifted both of his arms to untangle the knot behind Dean’s head and finally let the material slide off.

Dean gulped the air. He froze when Cas traced his fingertips over Dean’s jawline and his parched lips. Their eyes locked for a few long seconds.

“We should get out of here,” he finally croaked.

Cas let his hand drop and he nodded, then wrapped his fingers over Dean’s wrist and tugged.

 

***

 

“It was Michael, wasn’t it?” Dean asked. “Michael killed that guy’s father?”

The way Castiel looked at him made it quite obvious he knew exactly what Dean had in mind.

“Yes,” he answered quietly. “It was Michael.”

“And you really didn’t know anything?”

“How could I?” Cas’ eyes were big, blue, and sad. “I’d been away on the mission for at least a few months. And my brother is the one that gives orders, not me.”

Dean swallowed and mindlessly brushed Impala’s mane with the palm of his hand.

“But you still didn’t tell… him. You didn’t say anything.”

“I hadn’t known.” Dean could feel Castiel was still staring at him, but he couldn’t look up. “Not until I met Michael in the city. He told me about it even before you woke up.”

“And then? Why didn’t you say anything then?”

“He—I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.”

Finally, Dean lifted his head. He wasn’t surprised that Cas looked away as soon as their eyes met.

“They did something to you, didn’t they.” It wasn’t even a question, but Castiel still shook his head violently. He still wasn’t able to look at Dean and Dean knew the truth. “Yes, they did. That’s why they took you away. You weren’t there when Michael performed his little magic spell, but then suddenly you showed up when it was time to go.” He paused, a foul feeling in his stomach. “What did they do?”

“Nothing,” Cas said, head turned away.

“Cas.” The angel kept shaking his head and Dean wanted to reach out and touch him, to put a hand on his shoulder, but their horses were too far apart. So instead he kept pushing. “It’s your wings, isn’t it? That blue stuff… it’s their doing?”

Castiel didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to, not with the way his shoulders tensed and his eyes closed. The foul feeling in Dean’s stomach turned into an angry roar.

“Fuck,” he breathed out. “What a bunch of fuckers.”

“Dean,” Castiel protested weakly.

“No, Cas. Aren’t they your family? Family don’t do stuff like that. Not ever.”

“It’s nothing, Dean.”

“Is it? Can you fly now? Do you have your powers back?” Dean rode up closer to him but still didn’t touch him.

Cas’ eyes drifted to him, too big and miserable for Dean to bear it. He moved and his knee bumped with Castiel’s, a way of offering at least some small comfort.

“You can’t, and you don’t. And you said Michael could help you,” Dean accused.

“He will,” Cas said. “After I come back.”

Dean looked ahead of him, on the dirt road slowly climbing up the flat hill. After they had left the inn, Castiel had turned their horses in the same direction they had been travelling to before and Dean hadn’t protested, too absorbed with what had happened to even think about it.

“The ruins,” he said slowly and looked at Cas with a frown. “What’s there?”

Castiel didn’t look away, just licked his lips uncertainly. “Something Michael really needs.”

“Can’t he get it himself?”

“No. There’s only one thing that can help to track it.”

Dean watched as Cas’ eyes slid down his face and stopped at his neck. He recognised the look as the same Michael had given him before his magic ritual and his hand automatically crept up to touch his amulet.

“I could have just given it to him,” he barked.

Cas shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. I’m sorry.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, trying to come to terms with the new knowledge that he was being used by one of the most powerful angels in their world to do his dirty work for him.

“How do you know I won’t just turn away and go back? Why is Michael so sure I’ll help him?”

“He’s not. I’m not,” Cas said. “But that’s the only way I can ensure your and your brother’s safety.”

Dean’s heart stopped. “What?”

“What Michael said about your family,” the angel said, almost too quiet for Dean to hear it, “it’s all true. You’re not ordinary and you’re certainly not invisible. Either you help him get what he wants, or he’ll send some people to find Sam. If this doesn’t convince you to continue your journey, and if Sam will not be persuaded, either, he’ll find another way.”

Dean couldn’t stop staring at him, his heart too loud in his ears. “He’s insane.”

“No. Just very determined.” Castiel looked away, his jaw clenched and hands gripping the straps of his horse.

“He didn’t tell me any of that.”

“He was sure you’d continue your journey thinking you’re looking for your father.” Castiel’s voice was flat now, but Dean wasn’t fooled. The angel was just pretending to be cold again. “That’s why I needed to go with you. To help find what we need to find, or to convince you to keep going, even if you knew your father’s dead.”

Dean swallowed. “What are we looking for?”

“Do you remember Michael’s sword I told you about?” Cas asked.

“The one stolen by Lucifer?” Dean nodded. “Yeah. But—”

“There’s only one thing that could find it, except for Lucifer himself, of course.”

“And we’re looking for that thing?” When Cas nodded, Dean raised his brows. “What is it? Another necklace?”

Castiel looked at him, no trace of sadness or coldness on his face. “It’s a dragon.”

 

***

 

Suddenly, it all made sense.

John Winchester wasn’t in some abandoned ruins in a middle of a desert. There was no point of him ever being there. The wasteland, like Michael had said, used to be a forest, devastated by the fire.

Dragon fire.

Dean wasn’t a history buff, unlike Sam, but he vaguely remembered several dragon legends. In the past, dragons had lived in their country, inhabiting some faraway places, never really disturbing anyone. And then, one day, they had started to fight and became extinct in a matter of a very short time—time that would be enough to sweep away every place and forest they had claimed as their own.

Up to this point, Dean had been certain there were no dragons left on earth.

“They didn’t kill themselves, Dean,” Castiel said gravely as their horses climbed the stony path among peaks that kept growing higher and higher. “Dragons were the wisest creatures in the world, they wouldn’t have turned on each other without a good reason.”

“People do it all the time,” Dean said.

“People are not wise,” Cas said and looked him straight in the eyes. Dean wanted to protest, only out of a sheer sense of pride, but he knew better.

“What happened then?”

Castiel still didn’t look away. “Lucifer happened.”

Dean felt a chill on the skin of his arms that had nothing to do with the drop in the temperature of their surroundings.

“Lucifer is proud. He’s conceited. He can’t bear losing, he can’t bear being worse or weaker. He couldn’t bear that people, whom he treats as a lower race, worshiped dragons and were afraid of them. He could not _stand_ that his own siblings—his own _race_ —put dragons on such a high pedestal.”

“What did he do?” Dean asked, voice small.

“He slaughtered them,” Cas responded. “He started a war between them, he found a way to turn them against each other. He made sure angels could never look up to dragons and make use of their wisdom ever again. He made sure people would fear him instead of dragons, of whom they’d start thinking as a thing of myths and legends.” Castiel finally looked away, up in the sky turning darker and more cloudy with every minute. “You know, some refer to Lucifer as a “light-bringer”. The way dragon forests burned made numerous nights shine bright like a day.”

Dean gulped. “Why didn’t anyone stop him?”

“No one knew. Even then, Lucifer had been dabbling in dark magic for quite a long time and no one, not even Michael, had known. When Michael damaged his wings and cast him down, he was able to rebuild them, although he still couldn’t retrieve his angelic powers.”

“And he took Michael’s sword,” Dean added.

“He did. Lucifer’s ultimate goal was to become the most powerful of all. First, he wiped out dragons, then disposed of the only thing that could make Michael as powerful as he was.”

“Then how is this dragon we’re looking for still alive? And how did you find out about him?”

Castiel turned his head and locked his eyes with Dean. “We had faith.”

Dean huffed. “Faith. That’s great, guys. Real awesome. So you just decided to sit with thumbs up your asses and wait for a magical amulet to somehow find its way to your city,” Dean snorted. “Inspirational.”

“We did not _sit_ ,” Cas said, frustrated. “We did not wait. We’ve been leading the war for years.” He looked at Dean in a way that actually made him slouch inelegantly in his saddle. “And, contrary to what you may think, your amulet is far from the only object in the world that could help us, so do not think so highly of yourself.”

Dean glared at the angel. “But still, you need me now. So stop bitching at me or I’ll turn my horse around and never look back.”

“No, you won’t,” Cas said and narrowed his eyes at him.

“What, because you’ll hurt Sam? Sam can defend himself,” Dean barked.

“Yet you were extremely anxious to get back to him as soon as possible.” When Dean didn’t answer, Cas raised his brows. “Even I would be able to defeat him, regardless of my draining powers. I’m still an angel.”

“You wouldn’t kill him—or me, for that matter. You need us.”

“We need your amulet, not you.”

Dean inhaled loudly. “Why not kill me, then, and use the stupid thing yourself?” he snapped.

Castiel’s scowl disappeared, his pinched brows smoothed out, and he sent a sad smile Dean’s way. It made him breathe out in surrender. “Because we’re not murderers, Dean,” Cas said slowly and after a moment he added, “And because you saved me. I would never let Michael do you any harm.”

Dean blinked at him, feeling the sudden change of air between them. “Never? And what about Sam?” he asked suspiciously. “You said they’d find Sam and use him.”

“They would.”

“Wouldn’t you try to stop them, too?”

“I would,” Cas said, but he looked away.

“So what, are you on their side or on our side, because I’m getting some mixed signals here.”

“There are no your and our sides, Dean. We’re on the same side: we want to end the war with demons.” Cas turned to look at him with fire in his eyes and Dean shivered against his will. “Michael may choose more ruthless paths to finally gain peace than I’d like him to, but he’s not our enemy.”

“He’d be my enemy if he attacked me or my brother,” Dean said.

“He wouldn’t,” Cas said stubbornly. “I wouldn’t let him.”

“But you agreed on lying to me, as long as I agreed to go where you wanted me to go.”

“I did it to protect you.” Cas looked at him earnestly. “All of it.”

Dean swallowed hard. “But you didn’t want to go with me.”

“I didn’t want to use you. To let them use you like that.”

“Well, you did, so thanks for nothing.”

Dean wanted to ride ahead and to stop the conversation, but Castiel put his hand on his shoulder and stopped him at the last second.

“I presumed it would be better to keep you in the dark as to the destination of our journey than to let you know and endanger you to Michael’s ways of persuasion. Maybe I could have found another way, and I’m sorry, Dean, but I—I did what I could.”

Dean frowned and looked Cas straight in the eyes, an unpleasant churning in his gut. “Michael’s ways of persuasion,” he said slowly and watched as Cas averted his eyes and withdrew his hand. “Like when he fucked up your wings? Is that what you mean?”

Dean didn’t need the answer; the way Cas went stiff and silent in his saddle told him everything.

“Like I said,” Dean muttered. “Fuckers.”

“They wanted me to keep my mouth shut,” Cas said, voice toneless.

Dean wanted to answer, but there was nothing he could say to that. He’d been so furious Cas hadn’t told him anything—hell, he’d even punched him—and now it turned out the angel had been literally forced to do it.

Even if Michael wouldn’t be able to hurt him or Sam, he’d probably find a way to hurt Cas.

Dean cleared his throat. “You’re kind of a rebel, aren’t you,” he joked lamely.

Somehow, it managed to lighten up the mood and Castiel seemed to relax a bit.

“This is not a thing to be proud of,” he said in a serious voice, but Dean could notice the beginnings of a smile on his face. “Remember Lucifer?”

“Yeah, but he—he’s evil. You just wanted to help.” He bit his lip and looked down at his horse’s mane again. “Why?”

Dean was sure Cas would mention Dean saving his life again, but the angel simply said, “Because you’re my friend.”

 

***

 

It started to rain shortly before nightfall and they decided to find a shelter for the night.

The droplets were cold and unpleasant when they fell behind Dean’s collar, and when they finally found a cave big enough for them to stay in, Dean was soaked to the bone and shaking violently.

They found some dry branches and leaves in the far end of the small cave and quickly build a fire. Dean huddled underneath a blanket, gritted his teeth to stop them from chattering, and let Cas prepare the something to eat.

“What the hell’s wrong with this weather,” he grumbled. “T’s the middle of s-s-summer, for God’s s-s-sake.”

“We’re getting quite high in the mountains,” Cas said.

Dean couldn’t bear looking at him, dressed only in his tunic.

“Geez, Cas, aren’t you c-c-cold?” he stammered.

The angel glanced at him, as if noticing his shaking for the first time. Then he stood up, unfastened his cloak from where it hung on his horse, and passed it to Dean.

“What about you?” Dean asked and looked up at him.

Cas smiled. “I’ll be fine, Dean. The fire is quite warm.”

“If you say so,” Dean muttered and draped the cloak over his shoulders. It smelled surprisingly fresh and a bit flowery, nothing like the horse it’d been strapped to. Dean wrapped the material over half of his face, telling himself he only wanted to feel warm and not to breathe in the new scent. After a while, the meal Cas kept mixing in the pot started to smell even nicer and Dean moved closer to the fire as his stomach growled quietly. Outside, it was still raining.

Cas passed him his meal and sat beside him to eat his own. Dean tried to warm his hands on the hot dish and, for a moment, he felt a strike of heat flow through his system—but then the cold came back, his feet still completely soaked in his boots, unable to get warm and making him tremble again.

He gritted his teeth, leant on the cold wall for support, and tried to sleep, hoping sleep would make him forget and he’d wake up dry and warm again, but he could feel the chill pour into him even through the thick material of the coat.

“Dean.”

He snapped his head up and opened his eyes when he heard Cas’ voice. The angel was sitting at his right side, as if trying to block the cold wind that came in from the opening of the cave. His hand was outstretched and Dean frowned.

“You want your coat back?” he asked, trying not to sound too disappointed.

Cas’ hand stopped him when he started to peel the cloak from his shoulders. With a look of concentration on his face, he sneaked his hand underneath the dark material and touched Dean’s chest.

“What the—” Dean tried to protest, but then he felt heat and he stopped mid-curse, wide eyes staring at Castiel’s face so close to his own. “Oh. What—”

Cas just smiled and moved his hand to the other side of Dean’s chest. Dean felt as if someone put a hot container close to his body, warmth seeping into him with ease. A quiet sigh escaped his mouth and he let his eyes slide shut, Cas’ fingers pressed to his ribs and his body pinned against his shoulder.

He felt Cas’ hand creep lower and touch his stomach underneath the cloak and he actually blushed, opened his eyes, and blinked up at the angel. Cas looked at him, too, and smiled again.

“See? You’re already flushed,” he said quietly.

Dean didn’t correct him, especially when his fingers moved to rest on his hips and thighs. Instead, he cleared his throat and asked, “How are you doing that?”

Castiel freed his hand from beneath the clothing and raised it to touch Dean’s neck and face, and only then did Dean notice it was glowing slightly in the dimness of the cave.

“Is that—Do you have your powers back?” he stuttered and his face turned pink again when Cas brushed his bright fingertips over his jawline, leaving a trail of heat behind.

“Only a little,” Cas whispered.

Dean swallowed. “Okay.”

After a while, Cas moved away slightly, even though his shoulder was still pressed against Dean’s. Dean felt dry and warm and sleepy now, and he let himself float away for a few long moments, but then he felt a tremble on his right and he forced his eyes open.

Cas’ face was colourless, his damp hair sticking to his forehead, his pale lips pulled tight. Dean exhaled loudly.

“Cas. Warm yourself, too,” he said, voice rough.

Cas didn’t open his eyes. “I can’t. I’m fine. Go to sleep.”

Dean could actually feel his shakes against his shoulder now. “No, you’re not. What do you mean, you can’t?”

Cas looked at him then, gave him a small smile, and raised his hand. It didn’t glow.

Dean gasped. “You used all your powers?” He cursed loudly when Cas nodded, then started to fumble with the cloak still resting on his shoulders.

“No, Dean, don’t—”

“Shut up. It’s yours, anyway,” Dean muttered. He winced at the touch of cold that reached him when he took the cloak off, but ignored it. “Here. Use it.”

Castiel shook his head and didn’t move, so Dean sighed irritably and put the clothing all over the angel, tucking it tightly behind his back. Cas grunted and moved, cloak sliding down a little, and Dean wanted to protest, but then Cas lifted the material and draped it over Dean as well. Dean fell quiet.

“’M okay,” Cas murmured. “Just tired. Need to rest.”

Dean felt the angel slump heavily into his side, his warm breath ghosting over his neck, and he rolled his eyes and fixed the cloak covering them to block any cold sneaking through it.

“Sleep, then,” he grumbled, trying to ignore the funny feeling in his stomach.

After a while, Cas stopped shaking altogether. Dean was almost asleep when he felt the angel’s head loll slowly onto his shoulder; he sleepily moved his own head, too, rested his cheek on top of Cas’ head, and dropped off.

 

 

***

 

Grey morning light was flooding the entrance to the cave when Dean opened his eyes.

Castiel’s head was resting heavily on his shoulder, his whole body radiating heat, cheeks coloured in a healthy shade of pink, lips parted slightly. Dean yawned and shifted, but Cas didn’t even stir, so instead of getting up, he turned his head to try to get a better view at the world outside.

It was already after the sunrise, but the sun seemed to hide behind a thick layer of clouds. It wasn’t raining anymore, but Dean could still feel the minty fresh air sneaking inside the cave despite Castiel’s warmth pressed into his body. It would probably start raining again soon, Dean thought, eying the fog surrounding the entrance, and they had two options: either stay here and wait until the weather cleared out, or start moving along and risk getting caught in the heavy rain or in a storm.

Dean spent a few more minutes savouring the warmth and staring at the angel’s peaceful face, and then Cas woke up and decided they should continue their journey as soon as possible.

So they did.

 

***

 

Dean swore out loud when the first raindrop hit him on the back of his neck.

That day, they had managed to travel only half of what they usually did, and Castiel had said they still had about two days to go until they finally made it out of the mountains, and then—one or two more until they reached the ruins. What would happen then, Dean had no idea.

He finished refilling his flask with cold water from a tiny stream rolling down the rocks, straightened up, and winced at the rain. It had been drizzling for the whole day; Dean couldn’t get warm and his mind kept coming back to the way Castiel had felt, asleep right beside him, breathing quietly into his skin. The way his warm fingers touched his torso, his thighs, his face, the way his face was so close and pale, his eyelids drooping with fatigue, even the way his cloak smelled—

But they had been travelling for half a day and Dean had had no excuse to touch Cas and something inside of him was starting to feel really weird about it. He was distracted, and hungry, and cold again, and he should just go back to the road where Cas was waiting for him and stop thinking about how maybe they could find another cave tonight and maybe it’d be freezing again and they’d have to find some way to spend the night.

He was just about to hide his wineskin into the bag strapped to Impala, too deep in his thoughts to notice the horse’s nervous twitching, when something solid crashed into his side and knocked him down to the wet grass.

He was too breathless to even make a sound. And then he noticed a pair of black eyes right above his face and felt a burning pain pierce his side.


	9. Chapter 9

His hands were red.

With a grunt, he pushed the demon’s body aside, grateful for his hunter reflexes that made him  reach for his blade as soon as his back touched the ground. He pulled the knife out of the body, the other hand pressing into his own side. The demon’s weapon grazed his rib just where the chainmail couldn’t reach; it hadn’t sunk too deep into the flesh, but the wound was bleeding and Dean was starting to breathe heavier with every move.

He stood up, wobbly, and looked around with frantic eyes. The demon had come completely out of nowhere and Dean’s heart still hadn’t stopped trying to get out of his chest. The rain was beating down hard on his head as he searched for his horse, but Impala was nowhere to be seen. He started to make his way over to where he knew the road and Cas were—and then another body collided with his and pinned him to the nearest tree.

The demon hissed loudly into his ear, his dark wings outstretched wide behind his back. Dean, his blade still in his hand, raised his arm to strike, but the demon caught his wrist and slammed it into the tree trunk. The blade slipped out of Dean’s fingers. Dean lifted his knee to kick him, but the demon evaded it and punched Dean in the face, hard. Dean punched back with his left hand, a bit unsteady and far too weak, but it forced the demon to let go of his wrist. Dean immediately drew out his sword and swung it at the demon’s head. The demon, surprised, grabbed the blade with his bare hand, and Dean pressed harder, pushed himself off the tree and jumped forward.

The demon yelled when Dean managed to cut deep into his hand, his eyes dangerously black. Dean turned and wielded his sword at the demon’s other side, hunter instincts kicking in and a rush of adrenaline pumping into his head. The sword sank into the demon’s arm and he skittered away. Dean chased after him, but when he raised his arm to finish the fight, the demon managed to scratch his own blade over Dean’s chest.

Dean backed away, hand creeping up to cover the wound. The demon laughed, a rasping, wheezy sound, and Dean growled, surged, and stabbed his sword right through the demon’s exposed torso.

The force of the blow pushed the demon to the ground and Dean fell right after it, the blade sinking deeper and deeper into the body. The demon screeched and reached for Dean. Dark, bat-like wings scratched at Dean’s face and he felt clawed demon fingers push into the stab wound in his side. He groaned and tried to get up, but the demon’s wings wouldn’t let him, encircling his whole upper body and hauling him closer. Dean closed both his hands on the hilt of his sword and pushed it in harder, turned it around, drawing a pained moan out of the demon. Barely seeing anything, Dean jerked the sword to the right. Blood bubbled out from the demon’s mouth and his whole body jerked. The black wings slipped down, and the rain fell onto Dean’s head again.

When he finally stood up, his breath was coming out in short puffs and his sword was dripping with the demon’s dark blood. Dean bent over and swiped the blade over his wet clothes, trying to clean it up a bit. He almost fell down onto his face, sudden pain darkening his vision and making his head dizzy. He leant on a tree heavily, slippery hand covering the deepest wound and trying to stop the bleeding. Fighting nausea, he reached for the knife he had dropped and, with weapons in both hands and eyes looking around the woods, he trudged through the rain in the direction of the road.

Despite the heavy curtain of rain, he immediately noticed the movement and knew Cas was in trouble. His boots slipped on the wet mud a few times when he tried to run, and he swayed dangerously into a tree and almost released the sword out of his wet fingers.

Through the dark mist in front of Dean’s eyes, he saw Castiel fighting with three demons at once, his moves fast and graceful, almost too difficult to follow. One of the demons noticed him and ran in his direction, dark sword drawn out. Dean dropped his knife and caught his sword with both hands. He couldn’t help but yell out in pain when their blades collided, the vibration running through Dean’s body, making him lose his balance for a split second. The demon tried to swing the sword at his head, but Dean jumped aside and the blade slipped down the chainmail on his shoulder and grazed his arm. Dean ignored the pain and the exhaustion, turned on his heel, and pushed the cutting edge of the blade deep into the demon’s neck.

The demon didn’t make any sound when he slipped down to the ground at Dean’s feet.

Dean moaned and fell to his knees.

He had no idea how much time had passed, but then suddenly Cas was kneeling in front of him, strong hands gripping his shoulders and touching his face.

“Dean? Dean. Look at me,” Cas was saying and Dean realised he’d closed his eyes some time ago. Now he had trouble keeping them open.

“’S o’er?” he slurred, trying to reach out and touch Cas.

“Yes, Dean, it’s over. It’s over. Now come on, we need to get out of here.”

With a quiet groan, Dean let himself be pulled to his feet, and he lost his balance again, the world blurring in his eyes, foggy and rainy and dark. He closed his eyes again, slumped heavily into the angel’s side, legs almost too weak to move.

“Come on, Dean, please, just a few more steps, please—” He heard Cas’ voice in his ear, low and shaky. The angel’s whole body was warm again and Dean pushed closer into it, pressed his face into the heat, savoured every breath and every quiet word.

Then suddenly Cas was helping him get up on Impala. Dean grabbed the reins. His fingers were covered in something red and shiny and he stared at them, eyes unfocused. He could still feel Castiel’s warmth and realised Cas was sitting just behind him, his arms around his waist and one of his hands pressing into Dean’s side. Cas’ fingers were now red and shiny, too, and Dean covered them with his own hand.

When he came around again, he was lying down on something cold, hard edges pressed into his back. He wasn’t sure if his eyes were open or not because all he could see was black, all he could feel was cold, deep inside his body, his bones, making him shiver and twitch.

A moan escaped his mouth when he felt a stab of pain in his side, and then a cold hand touched his face and he forced his eyes open, this time for sure. Cas’ face swayed in front of him, almost completely white except for brown smudges all over it. Dean locked his eyes on Cas’ face, concentrating on it instead of on the pain burning in his side. He looked at Cas’ sharp cheekbones, the way they made his eyes seem more sunken and sad. Cas’ eyelashes were long and wet, and Dean watched, fascinated, as a few drops flew down his cheeks and landed right on Dean’s own face. Cas’ hair was wet, too, and rain kept falling down from it. Cas wasn’t crying. Why would he cry?

Dean said his name and Cas’ eyes snapped up to his, and he touched his fingertips to Dean’s jaw gently. Dean saw they were glowing. He felt warm in places where Cas slid his fingers over his face and remembered the demon beating at him with his wings as he fought for life with everything he had. Dean saw black again, just as he did when the demon had held him with his wings and tore at his wound. Dean jerked, but then realised the demon was gone now, and it wasn’t the demon that was pressing his hand into the wound, but it was Cas, just as it was Cas’ fingers stroking his face, and his lips saying his name over and over and over again.

He opened his eyes and all he saw was blue, and then his breath was warm and his lips were warm and there were hands holding his face and Cas was right there, close, and then he moved away and Dean reached out and pulled him closer again, their lips touching and breaths warming up, and when Dean closed his eyes tight and kissed Cas one more time, he didn’t feel the pain anymore.

 

***

 

Dean woke up when the thunder roared somewhere nearby, and he opened his eyes just in time to see a flash of lightning illuminate the entire cave.

“Dean?” he heard Castiel’s voice right beside him and he slowly turned his head, still dazed from the blinding light and sleep.

“’S just a storm,” he mumbled.

Cas, lying at his side, pushed himself up on his elbow and leant over Dean. “How are you feeling?” he asked and reached out his hand to drag his fingertips over Dean’s chest. Dean realised he was half-naked and covered with a blanket, something soft pushed under his head.

“’Kay,” he murmured, eyes closing.

“Go back to sleep, Dean, I’m here.” Dean felt Cas brush his fingers through Dean’s hair and he smiled sleepily. “I’m watching over you. You sleep.”

Castiel lay down beside him again. Dean couldn’t move his body, but he turned his head and hid his face in Cas’ neck, and when he breathed in again, he was already back asleep.

 

***

 

Dean spent a few long minutes trying to open his eyes, and when he finally did, he immediately closed them again, blinded by the bright daylight seeping through a small opening up high. He let himself lie there idly for a little longer, then groaned and sat up.

“Ugh,” he grunted again and covered his mouth with his hand. He felt sick, a bitter bile stuck somewhere in his throat, and he started to breathe slowly through his nose to at least be able to sit without swaying down to the ground again. Finally, he reached for his shirt that had apparently served as his pillow during the night, and slowly put it over his head, wincing at the painful stretch in his muscles and his abdomen. Only then did he remember about the previous day’s events.

Gasping, he tugged his shirt up to look at his wound and grimaced again when he saw the ugly red skin surrounding the lousy stitches just under his ribs. He frowned. He didn’t remember doing that. When he thought of that, he actually didn’t remember anything apart from the fighting and the blood and the rain. Castiel must have done that, he decided, covering the wound with his shirt. With a grunt, he put on his chainmail, too, then got up and reached out to lean on the stony wall.

The cave was more like a tiny den in the middle of the mountain, with some loose rocks leading up to the narrow entrance high up the wall. Dean couldn’t imagine Cas dragging his passed out ass down here, but he guessed he should probably be grateful.

Fortunately, even though the wound still looked a bit raw, all it did was sting a little every time he moved. But that was nothing; he could live with that. Probably.

The rocks were wet and slick in places from the night’s rain, but he managed to climb them and reach the opening. He sat there for a minute, panting, and then noticed Castiel’s black head several yards down near the foot of the mountain. The angel stood by Impala, straightening up her saddle, and Dean breathed out in relief. He looked around, but couldn’t find Cas’ horse anywhere, so he just shrugged and tried to walk slowly down the mountain, but ended up gracelessly sliding down on his ass half of the way instead.

Cas still didn’t hear or notice him. Dean brushed off his clothes and gasped breathlessly when he accidentally hit his wound with his hand. Still, when he looked up and started to walk towards the angel, he couldn’t stop the smile that appeared on his face. Something warm settled down in his stomach, but Dean paid it no mind, in a hurry to get over and see if Cas was okay.

And then the angel finally heard him and spun around just when Dean was about to reach out a hand and touch him.

“Dean,” Cas said and Dean smiled wider.

He ignored the fact that Cas looked just like he felt: as if he hadn’t slept for a week and got scratched and bitten and chewed all over and ached with every little move. Cas’ face was a sickly shade of white, his hair ridiculously tousled and not looking very fresh. He had a red cut on his cheek reaching from the corner of his eye almost to his ear. Without thinking, Dean stepped closer and put a hand on his shoulder, still smiling.

The warmth inside of him roared to life when Cas, his eyes never leaving Dean’s, touched Dean’s hand with his own fingers.

“How are you, Dean?” The angel looked him over and Dean could swear he felt his ears turn pink.

“Ah. Been better,” he muttered and forced himself to withdraw his hand and let it hang loosely by his side. Cas still didn’t step back, though, a deep frown on his face. “But, hey, I’m alive. I guess that’s thanks to you, isn’t it?”

Cas didn’t answer, just lowered his eyes and looked at Dean’s torso. “What about your wound? I did everything I could, Dean, but I’m completely drained now.” He moved closer and his hands reached out. “I—I could only try to lessen your pain a little, but—but you—”

He was stuttering now. Dean stared at him, but before he could say anything, Cas’ fingers touched his shirt and started to lift up the hem.

“Uhh—hey!” Dean protested and caught Castiel’s wrists. He laughed nervously. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m okay. No need to—”

“I just want to check if everything’s alright,” Cas explained, wide eyes blue and pleading.

Dean squeezed his wrists. “Everything’s fine, really. Thanks.”

“You—I’m so sorry, Dean.” Cas looked down guiltily.

Dean’s stomach clenched unpleasantly. “What? What are you apologising for? You saved my life, man.”

“I’m useless without my powers,” Cas murmured, still without looking up. “I couldn’t even stitch your wound properly, I’m so used to healing.”

“Shut up,” Dean barked out and Cas finally stared at him, surprised. “What the fuck are you talking about? If it wasn’t for you, I’d probably be six feet under now. So shut your mouth, okay?”

Cas didn’t listen. “But, Dean—”

“Hey!” Dean’s hands moved of their own accord and caught the angel’s fingers instead of his wrists. He squeezed them lightly. “What did I just say?”

Cas blinked and shut his mouth.

Dean sighed and shook his head. “Stubborn son of a bitch.” He realised he was actually holding Cas’ hands now, so he let go of them, stepped back, and cleared his throat. “So, as I was saying. Thanks.”

“You do not have to thank me, Dean,” Cas said, eyes soft. “I did what I had to do, considering that all of it was my fault.”

Dean pursed his lips. “And how exactly was that demon attack your fault, huh?”

“If it wasn’t for me, you would be safe in your own home now.”

“Which means you’d be lying dead in that forest because that’s where it all started,” Dean bit back. “For God’s sake, stop trying to take all the blame yourself. You know very well it’s not right.”

“I endangered your life,” Cas said, “again.”

“Yeah, so what? But then you kicked some demon asses and _saved_ my life, so I guess we’re even.”

“I shouldn’t have let you wander off on your own—”

“Fuck, Cas, just let it go, or I swear to God I will—”

Castiel crowded him against Impala’s back, eyes narrowed and angry. “I’m not going to watch you die, Dean.”

“Well, I’m not dying yet, so stop whining,” Dean snapped.

“You almost died!”

“But I _didn’t_!” Dean watched Cas move even closer and open his mouth to retort, and he didn’t let him. “You know why? Because you were there. I would have never made it to that cave on my own, Cas, ‘cause those stupid fucking demons surprised the hell outta me, and apparently I can’t even fight off one, let alone three, and you—”

Suddenly, Cas lifted his hand and touched Dean’s cheek with his fingers. Dean stopped in the middle of the sentence and just stared at him.

“You were so cold, Dean,” Cas muttered. “I was afraid you wouldn’t make it. You lost a lot of blood and I had no powers.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean said quietly as Cas brought his whole hand to Dean’s face. “I’m fine now.”

“I _never_ wanted this to happen to you,” Cas said, fire in his eyes.

Dean realised he’d been moving closer and leaning into Cas’ hand, and he stopped, feeling the same heat he saw in Cas’ blue eyes in his own stomach, feeling goosebumps all over his skin and sparks in places Cas touched him, one hand cupping his face and the other sliding down his arm. His eyes flickered down to Cas’ lips, pink and half-opened, and the warmth in his stomach moved even lower. He looked up and saw the clear blue of Cas’ eyes and it felt so familiar and so new at the same time, and he knew all he had to do was just lean in and close the distance between them.

But then a fire exploded in his chest.

He gasped and clutched at his amulet. Cas moved away, worry fogging up his eyes.

“What’s happening?” he asked.

Dean grabbed the string of his necklace and moved it away so that the headpiece didn’t touch his body anymore. He looked up.

“It’s hot, Cas. My amulet’s burning.”

The angel’s eyes widened.

Before either of them had a chance to speak up again, something huge clouded the sun and cast an enormous shadow over them. Dean, heart in his throat, looked up.

There were wings, a pair of them—giant, bat-like, lighter from where Dean could see them from the ground. He stared at them for a few long seconds and then he noticed the long tail swaying in the air with every move of the wings, the long neck, and the two pairs of massive limbs.

But before Dean could really get a look good at the dragon, it disappeared behind the nearest peak.

“Oh, God,” he muttered and turned to Cas.

The angel was a few feet ahead of him now, his head still tilted up high and eyes glued to the sky. Dean noticed his fists were clenched by his sides.

“Uh, Cas? Was that—”

“Yes,” Castiel answered immediately, voice tight.

“And is this the one we’re—”

“Yes.” Cas finally looked at him, eyes wild. “This is the dragon we’re looking for.”

“Oh. Then, I guess—He’s found us first.” Dean laughed nervously. His amulet was still hot against his chest, even through the chainmail, but it wasn’t so violent anymore. He looked down at it and frowned. “Huh. Michael was right, after all.”

“Of course he was,” Cas said and moved closer to Impala again, busying himself with her saddle.

“Uh.” Dean stepped forward, too. “So, what are we going to do now?”

Cas looked at him over his shoulder and his eyes flickered down to Dean’s hand still clutching the amulet. “We’re going to follow it.”

“Follow it? Follow the dragon?” When Cas nodded, Dean breathed out. “Okay. Do you know where it is? I mean, the thing can fly. It could be anywhere now.”

“No. Michael’s spell discovered the dragon’s lair to be in the ruins and we’re really close to it. I am sure we just have to continue our journey and we’ll find it.”

Dean rubbed his forehead and tried not to imagine the way their meeting with the dragon—the freaking _dragon_ —would look.

“And then what?” he asked anyway.

“Then we’ll see.” Castiel finally looked at him properly, his face still pale, but his eyes determined and certain. “Dragons are not evil creatures, Dean. Do not worry.”

“I don’t. I mean, it’s just… a bit risky, don’t you think?” Dean breathed in and out again, trying to calm himself down.

But then Cas reached out and grabbed his hand.

“Everything will be alright. I promise you, Dean,” he said, his eyes not leaving Dean’s face even for a second. Dean just kept staring back at him. “I told you I never wanted anything bad happen to you, and I still mean it. You’re here because of me and I’ll do everything in my power to bring you back home safely.” Cas squeezed his hand and moved away, his fingers gently brushing Dean’s skin. “You have my word.”

Dean blinked and moved forward just to feel Cas so close again. “Okay,” he mumbled.

Cas smiled shyly and Dean’s heart fluttered in his chest.

“I don’t want anything bad happen to you, either,” he said without thinking and watched as Cas’ smile grew fonder and more beautiful and felt his insides tighten at the sight and suddenly all he wanted to do was to lean in and kiss him.

The thought was sudden, but not really surprising, and Dean would have spent more time thinking about it if it wasn’t for the fact that they had just witnessed a dragon flying over their heads. Cas seemed to remember that, too, because he turned to the horse again.

“We need to go now,” he said.

Dean looked around slowly. “Where’s your horse?”

“It’s gone,” the angel said, his face blank. “It got loose when the demons attacked me, and I had no chance to look for it because you were unconscious.” He patted Impala’s side gently and glanced at Dean. “Do you think she’ll be able to carry both of us, at least for a while?”

Dean gulped but nodded. “Yeah. Uh, she’s strong, don’t worry. I—I think it’ll be okay. For a while.”

“She already managed that,” Cas said, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I needed to take you someplace safe last night and she didn’t even protest. She’s a very well-mannered horse, Dean.”

Dean’s heart swelled with pride and he reached a hand to stroke Impala’s mane. “I know. And she knows it, too, don’t you, Baby?” He lowered his head to plant a quick kiss on her nose. Impala neighed quietly at him and he smiled. Then Cas placed his own hand on Dean’s lower back and Dean felt his cheeks flush bright at the touch.

“I’ll go get our things from the cave,” Cas said. “We don’t have any time to waste.”

“Sure,” Dean murmured and watched the angel climb up to the cave almost without any effort. Then he closed his eyes, rested his forehead on Impala’s neck, and sighed.

Suddenly, it all seemed so rushed and uncertain. Only yesterday they were slowly moving through the mountains, still somewhere between constant arguing and sleeping close to each other, drinking in each other’s warmth. Now Dean couldn’t stop thinking about Cas’ lips and it appeared they needed to touch constantly, as if to check if the other one was still there, present and close enough. The shift between them was almost palpable and Dean felt he was close to choking on it.

Oh, and now they were about to run after the dragon, both of them in one saddle.

Dean was still breathing in Impala’s calming smell when Cas came back, a soft hand briefly touching his shoulder. Dean straightened up and, despite all the weird feelings inside of him, smiled at the angel.

Cas tilted his head and smiled back. “Are you ready?”

Dean didn’t say anything, just hopped on the horse and moved as far to the front as he could. His fingers stroked Impala’s neck.

Cas took his place just behind Dean and the horse moved anxiously.

“Shhh,” Dean whispered calmingly.

Cas’ hands weren’t touching him now, but almost every other part of his body was. Dean cleared his throat, grateful that the angel couldn’t see his face.

“You ready?” Dean repeated Cas’ previous question and Cas’ soft laugh sounded in his ear.

“Yes, Dean. You know where to go,” he said.

Without a word, Dean pushed his heels into Impala’s sides.

 

***

 

They had to stop before the sunset: Impala started to pant heavily and drag her hooves and Dean didn’t have the heart to force her into riding any longer. The wound in his back began to bother him, too, but he didn’t say anything about it even when he noticed his shirt started to soak through with red.

They found a small nook in the wall of a mountain, not even a proper cave, and Dean immediately covered himself with a blanket and was asleep within a minute, not able to stay awake long enough to ask Cas if he was tired too.

He was restless in his sleep, his mind half conscious of his surroundings, too worried something bad would happen again. The quiet of the night fused with his dreams of demon wings and dragons looming over his head. A few times, he was absolutely certain the giant reptile was standing right next to him, smoky warmth coming out of his nostrils and blowing in Dean’s face, and Dean had to open his eyes, sit down, and look around himself to make sure everything was as it should be. But then he would go back to the images of dragons and fire and his mother stuck in the house and he would stir awake again, cold sweat on his brows and a stinging pain in his side.

At one point he realised he’d been conscious for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of the night. Paranoid, he kept reminding himself to open his eyes from time to time to check if he was still safe in the nook. Then he started to slowly fall asleep again, his lids too heavy and breaths too calm. He saw blue and didn’t know if it was a part of the dream. The blue stayed with him even when he couldn’t think soberly any longer, though. Dreams of fire and danger turned into something even hotter, with warm breaths over his lips, breaths that didn’t belong to the dragon, with hands in his hair and fingers on his hips and mouths on his chest and low moans in his ears.

Dean woke up before the dream was over and he lay in the dark, hands covering his face and the heat heavy in his stomach. He wasn’t hard but knew it wouldn’t take much to get him going just like in the dream. With an irritated grunt, he finally sat up and looked around.

He was alone, his blanket kicked down to his feet. It was dark and he could barely see his own hand when he put it close to his face, but he could swear he heard Impala’s quiet nickers just a few yards over. Worry sneaked in between his sleep-fused thoughts and he stood up to look for Cas.

Just after a few steps, he heard it: a muffled buzz of water hitting the rock. He looked up, but it wasn’t raining. Curious, he followed the sound, one hand never leaving the stony wall of the mountain and feet unsure on the narrow path.

He found a small opening when his hand suddenly hit the empty air and his heart jumped into his throat. He shook his head and went into the tiny tunnel, with the ceiling low enough he had to squat down a bit.

“Cas?” he asked, voice gritty from sleep. He didn’t want to wake the angel if he happened to be sleeping here, but he couldn’t see a damn thing and he would rather avoid stumbling over Cas’ lying body. “Hey, Cas? You here?”

The sound of water intensified when he took a turn, and then he could see again.

The ceiling of the tunnel disappeared, replaced with a clear look at the night sky and the bright moon shining on the shallow pond. There was a small waterfall tumbling down the rocks, tiny droplets clearly visible in the moonlight.

Dean’s eyes focused on Cas, standing in the middle of the small pool with his wing-covered back to Dean, head hung low under the spray of water. Dean repeated his name, but Cas didn’t react, so he started to walk towards him, feet unsure on wet stones. Feeling brave, he reached out a hand and gently brushed the wing closest to him with his fingers.

The wing jerked out of his reach and suddenly Cas turned to face him, wet and naked. His hands grabbed Dean’s arms and pushed him away forcefully, defensively. In the same second, he realised he wasn’t being attacked and stopped, eyes big, hair plastered to his forehead, fingers still clutched painfully around Dean’s arms.

“Dean!” he breathed out and moved to pull back. Dean, hypnotised with the wide stretch of Cas’ naked chest just in front of him and the way his long eyelashes had caught a few droplets, followed him without a word. “Dean,” Cas repeated, even quieter than before.

Dean pushed forward and they both tumbled back under the light cascade of water. Cas’ hands were on Dean’s face now, then his fingers curled into Dean’s hair, and when Dean finally kissed him, Cas clenched his fists and pulled him incredibly closer.

The warmth in Dean’s stomach burst out again, redoubled. He kept his eyes closed tight to avoid getting water into them as his lips moved hungrily over Cas’, swallowing all his little gasps. His hands reached Cas’ back, fingers touching the soft and wet feathers, and Cas moaned loudly and pulled away.

“What,” Dean rasped out.

Cas looked up at him, eyes dark in the shadows of the cave, and then suddenly he spun them around and shoved Dean into the wall. Dean’s breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t have any chance to catch it again before Cas was leaning in and kissing him with as much passion as they had kissed earlier.

Dean touched his wings one more time and Cas arched his back. He hid his face in Dean’s neck and let him brush his fingers gently through the feathers. Through the haze in his mind, Dean was able to notice the feathers didn’t have any blue substance on them anymore and that they finally looked healthy and strong.

Then Cas’ lips touched his collarbone and he shivered, a sigh escaping his lips. Cas pushed into him with his whole body, all firm muscles and sharp bones, and when Dean wrapped his arms tight around him, fingers deep into the feathers, Cas groaned and moved his hips against Dean’s.

“Ah,” Dean mumbled and stroked Cas’ wings close to his back, feeling the delicate bones move under his fingertips. In response, Cas melted into him and rubbed against him unabashedly. “You like that, yeah?”

Cas clutched his hands on Dean’s shoulders for support and straightened up only to press even closer to Dean, lips brushing over Dean’s slowly, unhurriedly.

“Yeah,” he whispered. His hands reached up and cupped Dean’s face.

Dean kissed him, eyes sliding shut, hands on the angel’s hips. Kissing Cas seemed like the most natural thing in the world and he started to wonder why they hadn’t done that earlier, but his thoughts were suddenly cut short when he felt Cas’ smooth tongue graze over his lips and open them with small, shy licks.

Dean let him in without hesitation, hands coming up again to play with the feathers, delighted when Cas whimpered and pushed his body into him, pliant and warm and sweet. Dean was now painfully hard and when he felt Cas’ fingers on the strings of his trousers, he breathed out in relief into the angel’s mouth.

“Mhm,” he murmured and gasped when Cas palmed him through the fabric. “Yeah. Yes.”

Cas moved his lips slowly over Dean’s jawline up to his ear. “Dean,” he panted and Dean felt like he could melt at the sound of his name in the angel’s mouth, spoken in that broken voice.

Cas kissed his ear, nimble fingers untying the loose knot of his trousers, and then suddenly Dean was free and exposed. He struggled for breath, overwhelmed with the feeling of Cas’ cold hand on him. But Cas didn’t let go; his lips brushed Dean’s neck, stubble grazing his skin, and his hand moved agonizingly slow.

Dean pressed closer. He tugged at the angel’s wings, too gentle to cause any harm, and Cas squeezed his hand with a low groan. Dean hissed, pushed his fingers away, and calmed him with a kiss and a soft stroke of his hand over the wings.

“You’re so amazing,” he muttered and shivered when his hardness met Cas’ in one smooth glide of their bodies. “Cas, you feel so amazing,” he repeated because he didn’t know what else he could say.

Cas’ wings trembled; cold droplets fell down on their skin and then Dean felt the satiny feathers curl around his arms and back. He moaned and rubbed his hips against Cas’, then buried his fingers deep in the wings, listening to Cas’ similarly breathy response.

With one hand wrapped around both of them, he cupped Cas’ chin with the other hand and lifted his head so that he was able to look at his face properly. The angel’s lids were heavy, lips parted and dark red from kissing. Dean leant in and kissed him again, slow and deep, hand moving quickly up and down their lengths.

Cas pulled away and drew in a sharp breath when Dean angled his hand and moved his wrist in a way that had them both moaning. The angel’s head fell back, his throat exposed and hands clutching at Dean’s shoulders. Dean kissed his neck and then Cas was coming, a low groan falling from his mouth and his brilliant blue eyes trained back on Dean again. It was enough to have Dean arch his back and throw his head back. He didn’t even feel hitting himself on the stony wall, overcome with the heat pooling in his gut and the white light exploding behind his eyelids.

Cas’ gentle fingers stroked him through his orgasm. Dean’s head dropped to Cas’ shoulder and their breaths slowly evened out. Dean could feel cold hands wandering over his arms, to his chest, still covered with clothes, and then underneath them. Cas pulled away a bit and Dean wanted to protest, but he found he had no energy to do it.

Cas’ fingers grazed his stomach and his hips beneath his shirt, and then he felt his sharp intake of breath.

“You’re bleeding,” Cas whispered, soft touches close to Dean’s wounded side.

“’S nothing,” Dean mumbled.

“I’m sorry.” Cas kissed Dean’s cheek and lingered there for a moment. “Let’s go and take a look at it.”

“Leave it, Cas,” Dean breathed out, falling heavily into Cas’ embrace. “’M okay. It doesn’t matter.”

He felt Cas’ deft fingers tie up his trousers again but couldn’t force himself to move, so he just let the angel drag him slowly through the narrow tunnel back to the place he had slept earlier. He was stubborn enough to go with Cas to Impala and stand with his arm slung over her when Cas rummaged through their bags. His eyes were closed, though, lids too heavy and a fog behind them too dense to keep them open.

“Come,” he heard Cas’ quiet voice and he followed it. He let himself be lowered onto the soft blanket and kept sinking in and out of consciousness when Cas busied himself with taking care of his wound.

After a while, he found out he was able to think more clearly again and discovered Cas’ warm body just an arm reach from him. With a low rumble, he rolled over and pressed his face into Cas’ arm.

“Go to sleep,” Cas whispered, his hands in Dean’s hair.

Dean looked blindly for his wings but didn’t find anything, and for a while he wondered when Cas had managed to hide them, but then Cas wrapped both his arms around Dean’s waist and pulled him close and Dean let himself be lulled back to sleep by his slow breaths.

He slept without dreams.


	10. Chapter 10

Cas, a hand on Dean’s shoulder, reached out the other hand and pointed ahead of them, far across the sandy wasteland spread out from the foot of the hill they stood on and disappearing somewhere over the horizon, lost between the stumps and broken trunks of trees. The sad remnants of the forest—now burnt out, devastated, with sharp black branches and dusty soil—were half sunk in the heavy mist that seemed to be a constant in that landscape.

“I can’t see anything,” Dean said, squinting.

“There’s a low mountain,” Cas replied, his hand still heavy on Dean’s shoulder, making him feel more grounded and certain. “That’s where the ruined castle is located.”

“And the dragon,” Dean added.

“And the dragon.” Cas’ fingers slid down Dean’s arm and he turned his head to look at him. “How does your amulet feel?”

“It’s… warm.” Dean grabbed the necklace and took it off. “Here. See what you can make of it, you mighty angel.”

Castiel didn’t react to his teasing tone, just took the amulet out of Dean’s hand. He looked down at it, face pensive. “It’s definitely hotter than last night,” he murmured.

“Eh.” Dean tilted his head and winked at him. “Don’t know about that.”

Cas looked up, face serious, and Dean couldn’t help but lean in, his breath ghosting over Cas’ lips. When he felt the angel’s hand touch his chest, fingers a soft weight on Dean’s chainmail, Dean smiled and went all the way and pressed their lips together for a fleeting moment.

Cas’ eyes were closed when Dean leant back, and the angel followed him before snapping back to reality. Dean smirked at that.

“We have to go, Dean,” Cas said, accusing.

“You started it,” Dean shot back.

“I did not.”

“Okay, so maybe I did. But it’s your fault.”

“How is it my fault?” Cas frowned at him, but there was no anger in the expression.

“You keep touching me!”

Cas shook his head and threw the amulet into his hands. Dean almost dropped it to the ground.

“I would think you possessed more self-restraint, but if that’s not the case…” Cas moved away a few steps and hid his hands behind his back. “We’ll continue our journey apart.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dean hummed and looked over at Impala standing a few feet away.

Cas followed his gaze. “Ah. That’s right. We have to ride the horse together.”

“Is that what kids are calling it these days?” Dean laughed.

Cas took a swing to slap him on his arm but immediately stopped and looked at his hand quizzically. Dean laughed again and shook his head.

“Come on, Cas,” he said, came closer, and wrapped his fingers around the angel’s wrist. “No time to waste, you said? Let’s get this over with, then, because I’m sick of sleeping in freaking caves.”

Cas followed him to Impala’s side, looking as if he wanted to say something, but decided not to, for Dean’s sake. Dean pretended not to see that and mounted the horse instead.

“Hop on, angel,” he said and extended his hand.

Castiel climbed up behind him and his arms encircled Dean’s waist, breath warm on the back of Dean’s neck. Dean looked ahead of them, where the trees were starting to become scarce and the hill was slowly but steadily evening out. It was the middle of the day and the middle of summer, but the air on the road in front of them made everything heavier and darker. That was it, though. They were standing almost on the edge of the wasteland—the place which had been their destination from the very beginning, even if they hadn’t realised it then. There was no going back now, not without doing what they had to do first.

And what they had to do… Ah, yes. They had to find the dragon.

“Cas.” Dean cleared his suddenly too dry throat. “Uh. He won’t kill us, will he?”

Castiel didn’t respond, just rested his chin on Dean’s shoulder and strengthened his grip on Dean’s middle.

 

***

 

Dean had thought the border with the wasteland would be more pronounced and visible; that he would immediately feel the air get dustier, the ground under Impala’s hooves change into sand, the atmosphere slide into something more ominous. Dean had thought he would start feeling different, as if he was on a dangerous yet exhilarating quest, a mission to find a dragon and save the world, something he could tell little kids about when he was old and wrinkled.

Instead, he was thirsty.

The transition into a desert wasn’t as clear cut as he had imagined, but it didn’t mean nothing had changed. There were less and less green plants around them, now replaced with half-dead sprouts and dry tufts of grass; not to mention the forest which had provided them with shade had disappeared now, too, which exposed them to the sun, scorching hot even through the dusty fog. Dean could swear the sand was everywhere: underneath his clothes, in his eyes, down his throat. With a heavy sigh, he reached for the wineskin and took a few sips.

“There’s not much left,” he complained, shaking the canteen.

Cas hummed, his face buried in Dean’s shoulder. The angel had been dozing off since they started this part of their journey, still tired after two nights of taking care of Dean and letting him sleep instead.

“You’re so helpful,” Dean snorted, but then fell silent. He didn’t want to disturb what little peace Cas could get, especially since it could be over in the blink of an eye.

Instead, he looked ahead, brows furrowed and an anxious feeling in his stomach. They weren’t following any path simply because there was no path. Dean let Impala weave her way around the stumped trees and crumbly rocks, only interfering when she started to go off the course leading to the slightly higher hill looming in front of them. He kept looking up at the sky, too, both expecting and scared to see a huge shadow coming their way.

The sun looked like a bright ring of light through the clouds, but Dean could see it was falling lower and lower in the sky. He looked at the hill barely visible far ahead, then at the sky again.

“Maybe we should speed up a little,” he said aloud. Cas stayed silent, so he shook his shoulder gently and jerked him awake.

“Mhmmm?” Cas mumbled and straightened in the saddle. “What? What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Dean reached a hand behind him and patted Cas’ thigh. “Just thinking. Do you think we will make it before nightfall?”

“I’m not sure,” Cas muttered.

“Well, it’d be nice. I mean, Impala’s pretty tired and we won’t be able to ride all night. And I’m _not_ sleeping here.”

As if hearing him, Impala stumbled and neighed quietly. Dean stroked her neck.

“We would have to go at a gallop,” Cas said after a moment, “and as you said, Impala is tired.”

Dean sighed and rubbed his forehead. “So what now? You know, it wasn’t a really well-thought decision to take off today.”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything if we took off tomorrow, Dean.”

“Maybe she would be more rested.”

“She wouldn’t.”

Dean knew she wouldn’t, so he let it go. Instead, he said, “Maybe you’d be more alive.”

Cas fidgeted in the saddle behind him. “I’m sorry. It’s just—I am quite tired today, too.”

“’S nothing,” Dean muttered. “I’m only losing my mind here.”

Cas didn’t respond, just seemed to move back as far as he could in the saddle. Dean immediately felt bad.

“Sorry,” it was his turn to say. “Don’t listen to me. It’s not surprising you’re beat. I mean, when was the last time you had a good night’s sleep?”

Cas ignored the question. “Maybe we can find a place to spend the night,” he said.

“I told you, I’m not sleeping here. This place gives me the creeps.”

“Maybe the dragon will find us before we get to the castle.”

“Uh, that—that’s not helping,” Dean stuttered and his hands involuntarily gripped Impala’s reins with more force than necessary.

Cas reached out his arm, caught the reins as well, and pulled on them. Impala stopped and Dean turned a little to look at Cas over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” he asked, curious.

“We can’t stop and we can’t run. It seems to me that walking is our only option.”

The angel put his hands on Dean’s shoulders to steady himself and then slid off the horse. His boots sent a cloud of dust in the air when he landed on the ground. Dean looked ahead of them and down on Cas, and then he nodded and jumped off, too. Impala nudged his arm with her nose and he stroked her mane gently.

“Better now?” When she snorted loudly into his outstretched palm, he smiled and looked over at Cas. “Lead the way?”

Cas moved forward and pressed against him, mouth dry and warm on Dean’s lips. Dean kissed him back, grasped Cas’ hips with his hands, and pulled him closer. He felt Cas’ fingers brush up his neck and sink into his hair. He moaned quietly, licked at the angel’s lips, and deepened the kiss. He leant heavily on Impala’s side when Cas pressed into him with more force and huffed a laugh when she fidgeted anxiously, clearly confused.

Cas kissed the smile off his face and then pulled back, leaving Dean breathless and dizzy.

“What was that for?” he mumbled.

“Your smile,” Cas said simply.

Dean’s head spun and he groaned. “This is such a terrible place for this, isn’t it. I wish we could be anywhere else now—anywhere, really.”

“Top of the mountain?” Cas smiled. “Where it’s freezing cold and uncomfortable?”

“Anywhere but there, too.” Dean nudged him with his elbow.

“Your home?” Cas reached to catch Impala’s reins and Dean took the opportunity to lean forward again and kiss him, quick and gentle.

“My bed,” he murmured against his lips.

“I’d like a waterfall,” Cas whispered back and moved away, tugging Impala behind him.

Dean cursed him in his head for a second and then ran after him, thoughts much lighter than only a few minutes before.

 

***

 

The sun had almost set when Dean started to feel uneasy again.

Cas was silent on the other side of Impala, his head up, eyes glued to something only he could see in front of them. He had stopped talking quite some time ago, only responded to Dean with monosyllables, and then stopped making any sound whatsoever. Dean was thirsty, hungry, and sick of travelling. He thought about Sam, doing God-knows-what back in Lawrence, but thinking about it terrified him: he had told Sam he would be back in a few days with their father, and now it had been more than two weeks and Dean was on the other side of the country and their dad was dead.

Sam was going to kill him when he came back home.

Charlie would probably want to kill him, too, Dean thought with a small smile, because he hadn’t said goodbye and started this whole ‘adventure’ without her. She would probably tease him mercilessly about being ‘the chosen one’, too. Oh, and she would _never_ shut up about him and Cas. Never.

“Damn, I miss home,” Dean sighed, words falling out of his mouth against his will.

But it made Castiel finally look at him. Dean smiled wistfully and wanted to make some joke that would alleviate the seriousness of his previous sentence, but the smile disappeared when he actually noticed the look on the angel’s face. 

“Cas? What’s wrong?” Dean asked, a terrible feeling in his gut.

Cas looked away, lips still pulled unnaturally tight and brows creased. He raked a hand through his hair, cleared his throat, and glanced at Dean.

“We should start moving faster,” he said.

“Okay.” Dean sped up and only then realised he’d been dragging after Impala for some time now, the horse snorting nervously, her ears twitching. Dean looked around, but couldn’t see anything: the daylight was dim, colouring the mist dark yellow. Apart from their own footsteps and fast breathing, he couldn’t hear anything. Castiel had been leading them through the wasteland even though there still wasn’t any visible path on their way, but Dean trusted that the angel knew where he was going. The ground had been slowly climbing up, so Dean hoped it wouldn’t be too long into the night until they finally reached the ruins.

A thought appeared in his mind and chased away all his wonderings of home. He looked around again, then turned on his heel to stare into the mist behind his back.

“Is it the dragon?” he asked, throat tight.

“No,” Cas answered shortly.

“What, then? Are we there yet? What’s going on?”

“Please, Dean, hurry. And don’t look back.”

Dean ran up to him, a hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Why?”

The angel’s fingers were clutching his sword, too, Dean noticed. He looked at Dean, face hard.

“We’re being followed. We should be careful.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Followed? _What_?” He spun around frantically and half-drew his sword, eyes focused on anything that would move in the heavy mist. “I don’t see anything!” he whispered.

“I don’t know how many of them there are so we shouldn’t risk and fight, just keep going.”

“Demons?” Dean asked and joined Impala’s side again.

“Yes. Do you think we can ride again?”

“I—yes. She can handle it. Get on.”

Dean let Cas sit at the front this time, so that the angel could guide them in the quickly falling night. With one hand on Cas’ back, he turned his head to stare behind them.

“Are you ready, Dean?”

Dean gripped Cas’ tunic. “Yeah, yeah. Just go on. I still can’t see anything.”

Impala started to move, slow at first, and Dean pressed closer to Cas’ back, still trying to see anything through the mist.

“Isn’t this your territory?” Dean asked. “The hell do they want from us?”

“Probably the same they did when they attacked us in the mountains.”

Dean winced. “That wasn’t a really good fight. Maybe we should just stop and wait for them. I’d actually be more than happy to kick their asses this time.”

“Dean, we don’t know how many of them there are.” Impala started to trot faster as Castiel pulled on her reins.

“Whatever. We can do it. _I_ can do it.”

“I know your ego got bruised, but I’m not stopping to let you have your fun,” Cas snapped.

Dean glared at the back of his head. “What? It’s not about that!”

“It’s dark, we’re exhausted, and you’re still injured,” Cas continued as if he didn’t hear him. “If we hurry, maybe we can leave them behind. And when we reach the castle, maybe the dragon—”

“You’re so eager to run into that dragon,” Dean bit.

“Maybe because that _is_ our actual goal?”

Dean stayed silent for a few seconds. “For all we know, that dragon can be even worse than a few harmless demons,” he finally said.

“ _Harmless_?” Cas looked at him over his shoulder, a doubtful expression on his face. “Dean, they almost killed you last time.”

“You say this as if I was totally powerless,” Dean accused bitterly and tightened his hands into fists. “I’m a hunter. I’m not powerless.”

“No, but I am,” Castiel said. “And I’m sick of being powerless. I’m sick of waiting for Michael to finally help me, and of feeling responsible for the outcomes of our journey. In case you don’t remember, a lot depends on us finding that dragon.”

“I remember, okay? It kind of gets stuck in your head if you’re manipulated into it while thinking you’re searching for your lost father. Ever tried helping out a guy that killed your family? Awesome feeling. Really helps you deal with everything.”

Castiel kept staring at him. “You’re not only helping Michael, Dean. You’re helping everyone. Don’t you understand? There’s a bigger picture here.”

“No, there’s not. Not for me,” Dean said bitterly. “I was forced to do it. First, you fooled me to think my dad’s somewhere out here, then, you threatened my brother—”

“I never—”

“Well, not you, personally! But Michael’s your leader, isn’t he?”

“I’m just—I’m following my orders. There’s nothing else I can do.”

Dean groaned. “I don’t even know what the fuck we’re talking about anymore. I’m sick of this. Screw this. Screw this mission. Let’s fucking finish it and go home.”

Even in the dark, Dean could see Cas’ eyes go soft.

“I would give _anything_ not to have you do this, Dean.”

He could feel himself begin to blush. “You kinda already did.” Castiel smiled ruefully and something inside Dean clicked into place again. He sat straighter. “Okay, Cas. Let’s go find that huge fire-breathing son of a bitch and go back to your brother so we can get your powers back and I can punch him in his face for—Oh, _fuck_.”

The second his eyes left the angel’s face and he reached to tug at Impala’s reins, he noticed black shapes emerging from the mist in front of them. Alarmed, Castiel snapped his attention back to the road, too, and Dean felt him go stiff in his arms. With a loud nicker, Impala halted suddenly, almost throwing Dean off her back.

The small troop of demons charged at them, hissing and flapping their wings. Cas reacted at once, yanking the reins and turning Impala off her path. Dean craned his head to see if they managed to evade all the demons.

“Uh, there’s more,” he grunted into Cas’ ear. He watched as demons jumped at them from the dark, long swords drawn, clawed wings reaching out to scratch anything they could reach. Dean took out his sword and in his haste almost cut through Cas’ leg with its point. Cas didn’t seem to notice, just forced the horse to turn around to avoid the demon horde and try to pass by them from another side.

Dean didn’t see much in the dark, so he only tried to wave his sword and hoped it would help with anything. He felt a sting on his cheek and immediately backed away, straightening up in the saddle and clutching at Cas’ back to hold himself.

“You’re going backwards!” he shouted when he realised they were now running down the hill, not up, with the screaming demon army right on their backs.

“I’m just trying to—” Cas didn’t get to finish because they saw several other demons come at them from the other direction, too, probably the ones that had been following them before. Cas cursed, but Dean couldn’t even marvel at his choice of words because they were swerving again, and all Dean heard was the wind whistling in his ears and demons behind them. He tried to reach back with his sword again, but it was useless in that position.

“Shit, Cas, let’s just stop and—”

“Are you insane? Do you see how many—” Cas screamed back at him.

“Yeah, but we can’t fight like that!”

“We’re not going to fight!”

“So what, we’re just running away?”

“I’m trying to save our lives here, in case you didn’t notice!”

“This is ridiculous,” Dean grumbled. “This is fucking insane.”

He watched helplessly as the demons started to surround them on both sides, leaving them no choice but to run straight ahead. All Dean could see in the constantly moving and screaming swarm of demons were their black eyes, glowing in pale ghost-like faces, their teeth when they grinned at them, their pitch-black wings. When he tried to fight them off on one side, he felt a pang on his back when something sharp—either a wing or a sword—reached him. Breathing hard, he instantly turned away, but manoeuvring his sword was almost impossible and he didn’t manage to strike.

“Cas, we gotta do something, I’m not dying in the middle of a fucking desert!” Dean hissed.

Impala jerked violently when a clawed wing managed to stab her leg. Castiel didn’t seem to hear him because he didn’t answer, just leant lower over the horse’s neck and tried to speed up even more.

Dean could swear he felt heavy breathing of their attackers on his back and he couldn’t take it anymore, not when he didn’t even get the chance to defend himself. One hand clutching the back of the saddle, he tried to turn back on the horse. If he could see them and stop worrying that something would pierce through his spine when he wasn’t watching, maybe he could—

Impala neighed in fright when a demon jumped out to block their way. In his peripheral vision, Dean saw, as if in slow motion, how Cas yanked the reins to make the horse swerve abruptly, and then he lost his balance on the saddle and tumbled to the ground.

He wasn’t sure he even had time to scream because then demons were all over him, on his legs and his chest and over his head. Instinctively, he tried to raise his hand and swing at the enemy with his sword, but it was immediately knocked out of his hand by the hard blow to his wrist. His groan turned into a scream when something clawed deep into his left arm, and then he couldn’t even scream because all air was punched out of him.

Everything was black now—black, heavy, and breathless. There was no way he could stand up or move. The screeching was ear-splitting. He shut his eyes as tight as he could and wasn’t sure how long he lay like that, unmoving in complete darkness, but then his thoughts started to wander and he imagined Cas riding away, uninjured, lighter on the horse without Dean’s weight. He really hoped Cas would make it out alive, otherwise he would never, _never_ forgive himself for not being able to help him get his powers back—powers that had disappeared because of him in the first place.

Or maybe he wouldn’t have to forgive himself, not if _he_ didn’t make it.

Too busy trying to concentrate on anything rather than the fact that the demons were still trying to throttle him, he didn’t feel the heat at first. But then he jerked, finally able to scream out when the fire burst out in his chest. The demons shrieked even louder, though, and when Dean finally opened his eyes, he saw them jump off him and skitter around in panic. All his pain forgotten, he stood up shakily and looked around, too dazed to understand what was happening.

And then he saw it.

The dragon landed on the ground and with one sweep of its tail, immediately killed three demons that stood in its way. All Dean managed to do was to take three wobbly steps back when he saw something bright glow behind what looked like one of the dragon’s legs, right inside the beast’s belly.

“Holy fuck,” Dean muttered, turned on his heel, and ran.

He felt the fire rather than saw it.

The demons hissed and shrieked and moaned, the ground shook underneath the dragon’s enormous paws. Dean looked around frantically, trying to find Cas and his horse anywhere. Could they have already gone so far without him...?

But when he actually saw them, right in the middle of the crowd of demons, with the dragon crawling their way at an incredible speed and the flames coming out his throat, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on their ends.

“No—!” he yelled, but his voice was drowned in the roar of the fire.

He stopped dead in his tracks. A few long moments passed and Dean couldn’t breathe, not to mention move. But before he could shake off the numbness, a dark shape emerged from the smoke, running away from the danger.

“Cas!” Dean called and ran after him. “Cas!”

The angel didn’t seem to hear him and he didn’t stop, but Dean kept running, all wounds and tiredness forgotten. All he could think of was to catch Cas and make sure he and Impala were okay.

Then Cas finally turned back, possibly to look at what was left of the demons, and his eyes landed on Dean, running up the hill. His lips moved as he jumped off the horse and Dean could almost hear him say his name.

They met in the middle and all Dean wanted was to wrap himself entirely around the angel and never let go, but then Cas grabbed him hard by the uninjured arm and dragged him over to Impala. Dean went willingly and leant heavily on her body, burying his face in her neck for a second.

“Thank God you’re alive,” he murmured and looked at Cas standing next to him. The angel’s face was dirty, covered in ashy black soot, hair dishevelled and dusty, and only his eyes were bright enough to be clearly seen even in the dark.

“The demons suffered the most from the fire and blocked us. Although…” He raised his hand to show Dean the burnt sleeve of his tunic, the blackened and frayed remains of it hanging near his elbow. Dean grabbed his wrist and yanked it closer to inspect the skin, but when he didn’t find anything, he let go of his hand, wrapped his arms around him and hugged him closer, breathing out in relief.

Cas melted into the embrace and tried to put his hands on Dean’s waist, but Dean was keeping his arms stuck to his sides.

“Are you alright?” Cas whispered after a moment.

Dean nodded into his neck.

Cas fidgeted and Dean released him, stepping back. Cas looked him up and down and discovered the wound on his shoulder.

“Dean,” he complained and moved to check it, but Dean stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“Let’s get away from here first, okay?” he said and glanced back at the carnage still happening downhill.

Cas nodded and pointed to Impala. Dean climbed her and waited until Cas was seated behind him to push his heels into her sides. He felt Cas’ hand on the small of his back and winced in pain.

“Dean, you’re wounded,” Cas accused and smoothed out his ripped shirt.

“Forgot about that one,” Dean said casually. “But it doesn’t even hurt, it’s nothing.”

Cas hummed instead of answering, but his palm stayed on Dean’s back for a while longer.

It took them a few more minutes to get to the top of the hill, and when they finally did, he could swear even Impala gasped in shock seeing the ruined castle that stood there.

It didn’t even look like a castle anymore; there were no high towers, no turrets, no decorative fortification. It looked like the entire left wall had crumbled and only one simple keep was pointing high to the night sky on the right side. But the most stunning thing was the enormous gate gaping open where the drawbridge ended. If Dean hadn’t already known what lived inside that castle, he would have been absolutely terrified by the mere size of the entrance.

“I kinda want to go inside to check if the furniture is the same size,” Dean said slowly,” but also I don’t really wanna die too soon.”

“We’ll stay here and wait for him,” Cas stated.

Dean looked over his shoulder and gaped and him, then shook his head. “Waiting for the dragon. It still sounds ridiculous,” he said.

Cas smiled at him and brushed his hand down Dean’s healthy shoulder as if trying to offer some comfort. It worked. If it wasn’t for the awkward angle, Dean wouldn’t even hesitate before leaning in and kissing him.

Then Impala jerked, swerving suddenly, and Dean turned away just in time to see a huge hole right in the middle of the bridge.

“Okay. I should definitely stop staring at you and watch the road,” he commented.

“Fortunately, Baby is doing that for the three of us,” Cas said. Dean could hear smile in his voice and he grinned, too, hearing his own nickname for the horse said in Cas’ low voice.

“Yeah, we’re so lucky,” he said and pressed harder into Cas’ chest.

They stopped right at the gate to the ruins. Dean tied Impala to a fragment of the iron gilding door and couldn’t help but peer inside the castle—but all he saw was black. He swallowed nervously and joined Castiel, who was already sitting on the low stony wall of the bridge.

Cas was all over him in an instant, his gentle fingers tugging at the torn fabric of his shirt and lifting it. Dean winced.

“Was it a sword?” Cas asked in a quiet voice.

“Not sure. Could’ve been that damn claw. Wait, they aren’t poisoned, are they?”

“No,” Cas said. He dabbed at the cut with a clean gauze, but couldn’t do much more in the dark. The wound wasn’t bleeding, so maybe there was a chance Dean wouldn’t need stitches this time. It seemed all he did recently was get injured and he was really starting to get sick of it.

He spotted another bandage and the wineskin on Cas’ lap and took them before the angel could protest. With the smallest amount of water, he dampened the gauze just a little and lifted it to Cas’ face.

“Dean, don’t move, I’m trying to—”

“Shut up,” Dean murmured and brushed the cloth over Cas’ jawline, cleaning up the dirt.

“You don’t have to do this,” Cas whispered back, tilted his head forward and tried to hide his face from Dean.

“Are you done with my shoulder?” Dean asked, seeing Cas stopped his ministrations and simply leant in to press himself into Dean. He nodded and Dean smiled. “Then lemme do something for you now.”

“I have to clean your back, too,” Cas said but slowly sat up and locked his eyes with Dean’s.

“It can wait.” Dean rubbed Cas’ cheekbone and the skin over his temple.

“You’re dirty, too.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Do you want to clean me up?”

“No, I like you that way,” Cas said seriously.

“Oh, okay. I’ll keep that in mind,” Dean said, smirking. He cupped Cas’ face and moved forward to take a closer look at his face. He brushed the gauze over the angel’s nose and snorted when he wrinkled it.

Finally, Cas batted his hands away and made Dean turn around to try and inspect the cut on the small of his back. Dean managed to sit still for a minute or so, then stood up and went over to where Impala was tied to the gate. He vaguely remembered a wing cutting her leg, too, and he gestured at Cas to come over, find the wound, and clean it up. When the angel was busy with the horse, Dean smoothed a hand down her side to calm her down, his eyes trailing over Cas’ body.

“You okay?” he asked.

Cas looked at him over his shoulder. “Yes, Dean.”

“How? I mean, wasn’t I supposed to be the one protecting you? So far, I’ve been unconscious, like, two times, and you had to take care of me. I suck at this guardian thing, don’t I?”

Cas opened his mouth to answer, but then Dean’s amulet started to burn hot again and both of them looked up at the same time.

The dragon was merely a darker shape against the navy blue sky. It flew over them without a sound and disappeared behind the only tower of the ruined castle. The heat of the amulet eased a little and Dean exhaled loudly.

“I guess it’s time,” he said.

Cas nodded and Dean was surprised to see the angel draw his sword.

He frowned. “Didn’t you say it was one of the good guys?” he asked.

Instead of answering, Castiel beckoned at him and moved towards the black entrance to the castle. After a few seconds of hesitation, Dean reached for his own sword and came up empty. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he called out quietly, “Cas.”

The angel looked at him with exasperation.

“I don’t have my sword. I lost it down there,” Dean said and pointed to the place downhill where they had last seen the demon army being slaughtered by the dragon.

Without a word, Cas stepped closer, a stormy look on his face. Dean wanted to back away, but instead of punching him, Cas handed him his sword.

“What about you?” Dean whispered.

Cas reached down and took Dean’s blade out of the strap on his hip, then turned on his heel and disappeared in the ruins.

Dean had no other choice but to follow him and let the blackness swallow him entirely.


	11. Chapter 11

With Castiel’s sword in his hand, Dean could feel his heart start beating quicker with every careful step he took in the dark, but he wasn’t afraid anymore. For the first time since they had started their journey, he finally found himself enjoying the thrill of adventure, the one he had been so used to in the past, when he and Sam had still been needed and travelled the land back and forth looking for monsters to kill. He wasn’t going to kill anything now—at least he hoped not—but he realised it was even more important now. Cas had already said that, but apparently Dean needed to go inside the castle to understand. He wasn’t only helping himself and seeking a new adventure and a pretext to be on the road again. He wasn’t trying to save Sam, either. And a promise made to Cas to do everything to get his grace back wasn’t the only thing that mattered, too.

Dean needed to talk to the dragon and find a sword. He didn’t really know why he was the one chosen by Michael to do this, but questioning it now didn’t make any sense. All he knew was that bringing the sword back to Michael was what he had to concentrate on, and finding the dragon was the first thing on the list.

His eyes had already managed to get used to the dimness of the ruins and he sped up a little to join Castiel at his side. They went along the long corridor and after a while came out on the small courtyard, littered with mossy stones and broken branches. It was lighter here and Dean wanted to take a second to look around more, but Cas pointed to the right, where the high building with the front wall missing was slowly being swallowed up by the flora. They headed towards it, Dean with his head turning around and tilting up in case the dragon happened to be sitting on one of the half-ruined roofs, even though the amulet stayed cold on his chest.

They jumped over a particularly high wall of stones and entered what looked like a sanctuary of sorts. The first thing Dean noticed was a huge rosette up high on the front wall, with almost all of the window panes missing or broken. The sky was clouded, but Dean could easily imagine the moon shining right through the holes and brightening the whole place up.

They moved slowly through the hall and Dean marvelled at the state of everything that surrounded him. Even though it was all in a total ruin and possibly beyond repair, he still admired the way nature had found a way to make it look beautiful again. The wasteland downhill could be dead, but here, moss and grass and little flowers covered every inch they could find, even climbing up the cracked walls and pushing into every gap. Right beneath the rosette there was a pair of stairs leading from both sides up to the small green altar of flowers and leaves. Dean saw that Cas was already there and hurried after him, careful on the slippery steps. He joined the angel crouching by the altar and noticed several high stacks of old books.

“Whoa,” he gasped, looking at the tome Cas was just flicking through.

Cas looked at him with the same surprise in his eyes Dean felt inside of him.

“Looks like we got ourselves an educated dragon,” Dean joked quietly.

Cas didn’t answer, just put the book down and reached for the next one. Dean shook his head, stood up, and froze, heat striking through his body from the place on his chest.

The dragon stood right in the middle of the hall and was looking directly at him.

In the fervour of the fight, Dean had had no chance to take a good look at it and now he couldn’t help but gulp, a swarm of butterflies taking off deep inside his stomach. The dragon was gigantic. From where he was standing, Dean could only guess he would probably be the size of the creature’s back leg, and not even half that wide. Its wings were folded up against its back, their tips resting on the ground right near the huge clawed paws. The dragon had its long tail wrapped around itself, with its end swaying slowly and brushing the grass. Even in the dark, Dean could see the golden yellow scales covering its entire body, head to claw to tail, with luminescent blue signs shining dimly in a few places over it.

“Uh,” Dean uttered and patted Cas on the head.

“What,” Cas muttered, still immersed in the books.

“Uh. We have—company?”

Cas stood up fast, Dean’s blade high in his hand, looked directly at the dragon, and stepped over to cover Dean with his body. Dean wanted to protest, but then both of them stopped moving when the dragon opened its jaws.

“Hello,” it said.

Dean and Cas stared.

“I—I’m sorry about what happened. I really don’t like demons.”

The voice was loud, thunderous, male, and very fitting, but Dean could swear something was wrong with his hearing because there was no way these were the exact words that the dragon uttered. Cas glanced at him and Dean saw the same shock in his eyes.

“It’s… It’s okay,” Dean said slowly.

Some smoke puffed out of the dragon’s nostrils. “They just really get on my nerves. I hope I didn’t scare you.”

Cas lowered his blade and they both stepped back, still unsure.

“You saved us,” Cas replied. Then he bowed his head just the slightest. “Thank you.”

“Uhh. Yeah, thanks,” Dean added hurriedly.

The dragon shook its head. “Yeah, no problem.”

“Do you—Do you like humans?” Dean blurted out. Cas elbowed him in the ribs. “I mean—”

“Humans? Yes, they’re okay. I don’t really meet many humans, though.”

“What about angels?” Dean asked despite Cas’ death glare.

The dragon’s face looked as if he was frowning now. “Most of them, yes,” he answered ominously, and Dean remembered that Lucifer was an angel too, once.

“Oh, okay. This one’s really great, I swear,” Dean rambled and pointed at Cas. “I’m quite okay, too, I think. What do you think, Cas?”

Cas scowled at him. “Dean.”

“Ah, yeah. My name’s Dean, this is Castiel. It’s so nice to meet you.” Dean laughed only a little nervously.

The dragon’s head swayed. “Pleasure’s all mine. It’s been a while since I had visitors.”

Cas was still holding the blade up high and Dean touched his hand to lower it, trying to communicate with him only with his eyes. The angel still seemed surprised and a little irritated, but he let Dean take the blade out of his hand. Dean gave him his own sword back, put the blade in the holster on his hip, and then took a few steps towards the flight of stairs leading to the centre of the hall where the dragon stood.

“So, uh. How are you?” he asked casually.

“A little hungry,” the dragon hissed and Dean stopped mid-step. “But demons taste terrible. I really don’t recommend their meat.”

Dean swallowed. “O-okay.”

“You don’t happen to have any pork with you, do you?” When Dean shook his head wordlessly, the dragon sighed. “Oh, well. I suppose it would be too small anyway. I tend to eat like a horse. Or, huh, a dragon, actually. Hey, is that your horse over there at the gates?”

Dean could only nod frantically, suddenly remembering Impala left tied outside the ruins. How the hell could he forget about her like that?

“That’s a shame. I guess I’m gonna have to go on a hunt soon, then,” the dragon said in a tired voice.

“Uh, is my horse—”

“Don’t worry, there are no demons around here. For now. Your horse is safe.”

Cas joined him at his side and they both slowly went down the stairs, towards the dragon.

“Are those your books?” Cas asked curiously.

The dragon turned his head for a second, as if ashamed. “Yeah. They’re mine now. I kinda… like reading in my free time.”

Dean didn’t even want to ask how such a huge beast could read from such small pages, so he stayed silent and let Cas do some talking now.

“You have excellent taste,” the angel said. Dean smiled; leave it to Cas to try and butter the dragon up.

“Oh, thanks. I just gathered, since I’m the last dragon and all of that, I should at least try to be smart, right? So I read and learn. But I still feel—” Suddenly, the huge tail swept the ground around the dragon’s feet and both Dean and Cas jumped back. “Sorry. Not the greatest conversation topic. It’s kinda a sore subject for me.”

“Yeah, about that.” Dean spoke out. The dragon turned his head so he was now looking directly at Dean, his huge golden eyes burning in the dimness of the hall. “So, uh, you remember Lucifer.”

The dragon moved and spread out his wings so fast Dean didn’t even get the chance to blink. Somehow similar to demon wings, they made the dragon look even bigger, both ends reaching out so wide that they could touch both sides of the hall. Dean noticed more bright blue signs on the insides of the wings, right on the thin golden membrane stretched out between the bones.

“Please, don’t say that name in my presence,” the dragon growled. “Never again.”

Dean wanted to nod and back away, but suddenly Cas pushed in front of him, his head tilted up to look straight at the beast.

“Lucifer killed your brothers and sisters,” Cas said loudly and the dragon flapped his wings furiously. “He was our brother, but he betrayed us and did the unforgivable.”

The dragon lowered his head so fast none of them could even move an inch. His head appeared just in front of them, jaws tight, smoke coming out of his nose.

“He is the devil,” the dragon whispered. His hot, sulphuric breath washed over Dean and Cas, still standing motionless in the same place. “He killed us all. I am the only one left.”

“We know that,” Cas said. Dean couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that his voice didn’t even tremble. “And we want to punish him for that. But we really need your help.”

The dragon lifted his head, straightening his long neck up high, his wings slowly folding behind his back again. “You want to punish him?”

“He’s the one controlling demons and leading the war,” Cas said.

“I know,” the dragon breathed out. “But I can’t help you. I can’t kill… that thing. I won’t be enough. My siblings weren’t enough…”

“No,” Cas agreed. “But there is someone who can do it.”

Dean felt the dragon’s eyes on himself and he shook his head frantically. “What? No! Not me, stop looking at me like that. It’s his brother,” he explained.

The dragon blinked. “Oh.”

“Michael,” Cas affirmed. “He can fight with Lucifer. But he needs his sword.”

“Oh,” the dragon repeated. “What sword?”

Dean stared at him. “ _What sword_? You don’t know about the sword?” He turned to Cas. “He doesn’t know about the sword?”

“I don’t know,” Cas said, confused.

“Lucifer stole Michael’s sword, the only one that can defeat him,” Dean clarified. “So? Ring any bells?”

The dragon’s wings twitched. “Not really?”

Dean stumbled back and sat down on the first step of the stairs. “Awesome.”

“Michael performed the spell,” Cas said feverishly. “He said we would find you here, just like we did. He said you will know where the sword is.”

“If Lucifer stole it, how could I know? Do you think he would tell me? Or let me have it?” the dragon asked. “He wants me dead. He’s sending out his demons to kill me day after day. If I were him, I’d have destroyed that sword you’re talking about a long time ago, just in case. Which is probably what he did.”

Dean looked helplessly at Cas, wondering how the hell didn’t they think of it earlier.

“I—I don’t believe…” the angel stuttered.

Dean stood up and put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “Hey. Don’t worry. We’ll think of something else, I promise.”

“What?” Cas asked, looking at him with wide eyes. “That sword was our only chance.”

Dean shook his head. “Fuck. I don’t know. But it can’t be—”

“What sword was that, anyway?” the dragon asked. “I mean, why was it so special?”

“It was Michael’s sword. The only thing that could give him powers equal to those of Lucifer,” Cas said weakly.

“Doesn’t he have other swords?”

“That was the only one that was really his,” Dean explained. “I don’t really get it, either. Just go with it.”

Cas ignored his words. “Every angel receives a sword when they reach adulthood. We’re supposed to guard it as it’s the sword that serves to support our powers in a way. We have our names engraved on them in our language by—” He stopped suddenly and lifted his gaze to look at the dragon.

“What?” asked Dean and the dragon in unison.

“Our young angels don’t get their original swords anymore because there’s no one to forge our names on the blades. Except that now there is.”

Dean followed Cas’ gaze and looked at the dragon.

“What, me?” the dragon asked.

Cas nodded. “We need you to make a new sword for us.”

“I can’t make swords!” the dragon protested. “Come on, I’m practically a librarian!”

Dean would laugh if he wasn’t so caught up with everything. “Maybe you just need to, you know, write this emblem or something?” he asked uncertainly and glanced at Cas for affirmation.

The angel nodded again, but then, suddenly, he deflated. “There is only one problem,” he said gloomily. “Angels who already have their swords can’t receive new ones.”

“Even if they lose them?” Dean asked.

“Even if they lose them,” Cas said.

Dean hid his head between his arms, sudden tiredness washing over him and making him dizzy. So that was it. They made it, they reached their goal, they even befriended a dragon—all for nothing. Lucifer was going to flood the country with his demons and they would have nowhere to run anymore and no one to take advice from because even the last dragon on earth didn’t know what to do.

His eyes landed on the amulet hanging from his neck and he realised he had stopped feeling its warmth some time ago. He straightened up and caught it between his fingers, watching it closely, brushing the little horns with his fingertips. When he looked up to mindlessly compare those horns with the ones on the dragon’s head, he realised the dragon was staring at him.

“So I read this book once,” the dragon said slowly.

Cas lifted his head. Dean closed his whole fist over the amulet, the nervousness back in his guts.

“I thought it was just a story. You know. Like the fairies or something,” the dragon continued.

“Fairies are real,” Castiel said gravelly.

Dean snorted, the ridiculousness of the situation overwhelming him for a second.

The dragon looked like he wanted to ask something, but he shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. There was this book that talked about this group of humans. I really liked the idea because they were supposed to be kind of like librarians. And they also had some powers.”

“Powers?” Cas asked.

“Yeah, like magic powers. Spells. From all those books they read,” the dragon said. “It was a very, very long time ago, you know. Even I wasn’t alive yet, so it’s not surprising you didn’t hear about it.”

“Hear about what, anyway?” Dean interrupted.

The dragon looked straight at him and dread settled more heavily in Dean’s stomach.

“I think you may be one of them.”

A weird sound escaped Dean’s mouth, something between a groan and a whimper. “Come again?” he asked.

He could feel Cas staring at him, but he kept his eyes trained on the dragon.

“Your necklace. I can feel it from here,” the dragon said.

Dean let go of the amulet. “What do you mean, you can feel it?”

“Like… it’s speaking to me, even though I don’t really understand it. When the angel said there was someone who could defeat Lucifer, I thought he meant you.”

“Oh, no, no. No. I’m not defeating Lucifer, fuck you,” Dean protested and stood up.

“Dean,” Cas said and straightened up to join him, too. “Just listen to him.”

“I’m not saying you can defeat Lucifer,” the dragon said. “I’m just saying you may have the powers to make a sword good enough to do it.”

 

***

 

Dean stared at the book in his hands and tried to ignore the dragon breathing down his neck.

“Uh. Bad news, guys. We need something that belongs to Michael to make the spell work.”

Cas looked over at him from when he was kneeling on the ground and drawing symbols with a rock, face pensive. Then his entire face lit up.

“Your sword! Dean, your sword is one of Michael’s old swords!”

Dean blinked. “So, what, do you think we can actually turn it into The One?” he asked, then bit his lip. “Well, but first, we need to go get it. It’s still down there.”

The dragon moved behind his back. “I’ll go. I’m the fastest and I can make sure there are no more demons lurking around. We shouldn’t be interrupted now.”

Dean watched as the dragon immediately spread out his wings and flew out of the hall through the crumbled wall and into the sky. Dean noticed how the night sky was now slowly fading and turning everything around them grey, and he sat heavily on the step, feeling the exhaustion on his shoulders and his back. He didn’t even see Cas walk up to him until he sat beside him and plucked the book gently out of his hands.

“Do you think it’s true?” Dean asked quietly, looking up.

Cas, face ashen from weariness and lack of sleep, but bright blue eyes soft and smiling, put his hand on Dean’s uninjured arm. “I don’t know. But we don’t really have any other options.”

Dean rested his chin on his crossed arms, eyes never leaving Cas. “Yeah, I guess. Kinda sucks, doesn’t it? I mean, that Michael’s real sword’s not here.”

“We should have foreseen this,” Cas said.

“Yeah.” Dean sighed. “Sorry I’m your only option, then. If nothing happens—”

“Don’t say that.” Cas lifted his hand and brushed Dean’s hair from his forehead. “If nothing happens then at least we will know we tried everything.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “I just don’t really believe I’m the person the dragon was talking about. Librarians? Magic spells? Sounds more like something Sam would like, not me.”

“You’re brothers,” Cas said gently.

“So maybe he should be here instead of me.”

“Dean,” Cas scolded him. “The dragon said he’d seen something in you. Michael did, too, and he knew the amulet really meant something, even if he didn’t know what exactly.”

“So it’s not that I’m special, but the amulet is,” Dean muttered.

“The amulet is only a symbol, Dean.” Cas’ fingers touched Dean’s cheek. “Dean, look at me.” When he did, Cas leant in and kissed him lightly on the lips. Dean followed him with his eyes when he straightened up again. “You are so special, and you don’t even see it.”

Dean wanted to look down, but couldn’t take his eyes off Cas.

“It doesn’t matter if the spell works or not. I wouldn’t have made it this far if it wasn’t for you,” the angel said solemnly.

“Now, that’s not true,” Dean protested. “You’re the one that’s always giving up what’s left of your powers to heal my sorry ass because I’m too weak to—”

“But I wouldn’t be here to give you my powers if you hadn’t saved me in the first place.”

Dean straightened up slowly. “I just—”

“Why did you help me?” Cas asked and Dean vaguely remembered him asking the same question back in Lawrence, with Cas half-dead on his bed.

“Because that’s what I do,” he answered now, just like he had answered then.

Cas shook his head with a small smile on his lips. “No. You’re a hunter. Hunters don’t save people, hunters hunt monsters.”

“You’re not people.”

“Exactly. But you still saved me.”

They heard a loud flapping of wings above their heads and looked up in time to see the dragon fly inside the hall and land gracefully in the middle of it. Cas stood up, still smiling delicately, and outreached a hand towards Dean.

Dean breathed out loudly. “Okay,” he muttered. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Castiel led him over to where he had drawn symbols on the ground, then handed him the sword the dragon had brought. Dean gripped it hard with both his hands and looked up at the dragon.

“Is my horse okay?” he asked.

“It seems to be sleeping,” the dragon said and looked as if he was shrugging, his giant arms twitching weirdly.

“Ah, good. She deserves a break.” Dean glanced over at Cas. “If something happens to me, you take care of her, you hear me?”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” the angel said and passed him the book.

“Well, you never know,” Dean muttered. He stared at the old pages for a while, biting his lip. “So what, I just throw Michael’s name in here, right? That’s it?”

“That’s it,” the dragon said. “Or, I think it is. We’ll see.”

“Sure, we’ll see,” Dean grumbled, took a deep breath, and started to read. “ _Cooptare difficile, ita adsimilati. Quisque malus, neque bonus, ambo electus parvi, debebimus…_ ” He paused to swallow the bile forming up in his throat and didn’t have the courage to look up and see disappointment on Cas’ face because nothing was happening. He cleared his throat and continued. _“…exspes sumus quod finis est incertus… Michael!_ ” he emphasised, glad he at least managed to put the name in the right place among all of these strange words. “ _Victoria tristicula, quod mox servi erimus! Tragoedia! Nunc saucia!_ ” The sword twitched in his hand and he stopped, feeling two pairs of eyes on him. Maybe it was only his imagination. There was no way something was actually happening. “ _Victimae nos necare—Ah!_ ” The amulet burnt so hot that Dean could swear it was turning white. He wanted to tear it off his neck and throw it away, but didn’t dare to stop the spell. “ _Victimae nos necare,_ ” he repeated, just in case. “ _Tot occisi, immutati, nunc debemus constare!_ ” The sword was definitely alive in his hands, bright lights dancing up and down on its blade. Dean kept his eyes glued to them for a moment, then remembered about the last words of the spell. “ _Crudi mortes, eum fides, inimicos proteri! Per bellandum ante malum, nunc raptim nos defendi!_ ” he said loudly, because he could feel wind in his hair and hear the buzzing in his ears and then something exploded with such a bright light he couldn’t take it and had to close his eyes. The sword and the book slid out of his hands and he bent over, overwhelmed, and when he looked down at his hands resting on his knees, he almost screamed when he saw they were shining.

He looked up, terrified, and saw Cas in front of him, his blue eyes brightened up with the light, staring at him with an awe Dean had never seen before. He heard a loud thunderclap somewhere very near and then he looked at the bright blade of the sword lying at his feet just in time to see something huge and black and shadowy stretch out behind his own back.

Then his vision went black and he fell down.

Something cold touched his face and he opened his eyes.

“Dean,” Cas whispered and helped him sit on the ground, both of his hands on his shoulders now. Through the fog in his mind Dean realised there were no more wounds on his body, not in his side, not on his arm, and not on his back.

“How long was I out?” he slurred, rubbing at his eyes.

“A few seconds,” Cas said. “But it’s over. You did it.”

“I—I did?” Dean glanced at the sword still lying on the ground and remembered what he had seen. “Oh my God. Oh my God, Cas, did you—did you see that?”

“I did,” Cas said quietly.

“I—I had wings,” Dean stammered.

“Not real wings,” the dragon interrupted. “More like just the shadows of them. They weren’t really here… At least I don’t think so.”

Dean ignored him and kept staring at Cas. “What does it mean?”

“I’m not sure.” The angel stood up and reached for the sword carefully. It looked exactly the same, no blue lights swirling around the blade now, but when he handed it to Dean, he felt a strong spark of electricity run from where his fingers held the hilt, through his hand and over his whole body. He looked at Cas and felt like he was burning, something hot and charged dancing between them. Cas’ eyes were a radiant shade of sky blue and Dean had to stand up and move closer, and closer, and closer, to hear the wind blow louder in his ears and the sparks fly over their heads and those dazzling blue eyes draw him in until he could reach out, take Cas’ face into his hands and taste the light on his lips.

He saw a flash of something hot and bright even though his eyes were closed, but he wasn’t sure what caused it. Cas’ fingers were clutching at Dean’s wrists, his body pressing so close Dean could hear his heartbeat and feel his heat. But after a few more seconds the heat became too much to bear and Dean broke the kiss so suddenly he swayed back, barely keeping his balance, and gasped.

Cas was glowing.

Dean stepped back quickly, scared and amazed by the sight of the angel in front of him. Cas opened up his eyes and his mouth as if he was about to scream, but instead of his voice, the same blue light that was surrounding him exploded from inside of him and flooded the air. With a loud whoosh, Cas’ wings appeared behind his back, brilliantly black, shining, impressive, no signs of brokenness or injury on them. For a moment, Dean could swear he saw a perfectly round halo around Cas’ head and he sat down on the ground right where he stood, completely overcome with what was happening right before his eyes.

When Cas’ light turned too bright to watch, Dean hid his face in his shoulder and sat like that until he heard the wind calm down and the angel breathe out wordlessly. He stood up, his legs almost too weak to support him, and immediately rushed to where Cas was standing and staring at him, wings gone, eyes back to their usual bright shade of blue.

“Dean,” Cas choked out, and Dean wrapped his arms around him and almost crushed him with his hug, but then Cas was hugging him back just as firmly and Dean buried his face in Cas’ shoulder and breathed him in.

“What happened?” he asked after a long while, moving away just so that he could speak again.

“I have my powers back,” Cas whispered, hands creeping up to hold Dean’s face and pull him closer. “You healed me, Dean. You gave me back my powers.”

And when Cas kissed him, Dean didn’t even question his words.

 

***

 

“Okay, so again: how the hell did I heal you?”

Castiel’s hair looked lighter in the morning sun and Dean couldn’t take his eyes off him.

“I’m not sure,” the angel said and tightened the strap on Impala’s saddle. “That magic wasn’t something I’m entirely familiar with.”

Dean handed him the sword, now sheathed and hidden from the world. “You’re not familiar with it at all, Cas. The dragon said even he didn’t know it.” He bit his lip, shuffled his feet. “And yet it worked. I still feel weird.”

Cas turned to him. “You managed to create a new sword for Michael, Dean. It’s—it was incredible. It was just as if you were—”

“…Michael?”

Cas just looked at him wordlessly.

“It was just as if I was Michael for a moment, wasn’t it?” Dean asked, throat tight. When Cas still didn’t answer, he closed his eyes and muttered, “Fuck.”

The dragon landed suddenly in front of them, his claws scraping at the old stones surrounding the castle. “You weren’t Michael, dumbass,” he thundered. Two dead deer fell onto the ground with a thud and Impala neighed loudly and jerked at her reins. Dean looked away from the carcasses and went over to calm the horse down.

“I wasn’t?” he asked. “But… I had wings?”

“Those weren’t wings,” the dragon said. “The spell connected you to Michael, sure, but it didn’t turn you into an angel all of a sudden.”

“Do you think Michael knows something happened, then?” Castiel asked.

“Probably. But you better ask him yourself.”

“We will.” Cas pointed to the animals still lying in front of them. “Would you mind if we took one? That way we could start our journey immediately and—”

“You won’t need it,” the dragon said matter-of-factly. “You’ll eat when you get to the city.”

Dean quirked a brow. “Uhh, but it’s, like, a week from here. Maybe you can go a week without food, you big beast, but we really got to eat…” He stopped when a loud, rumbling noise came out of the dragon’s mouth. Certain he had angered the creature, Dean backed away a few feet until his back met the stony wall.

But then he realised the dragon was laughing.

“Oh, sorry, I forgot to tell you,” he said. “Time’s a precious thing. You’re not going to travel on foot this time.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “What? Oh, no, no, no. Nope. I’m not getting on you, you moving mountain!”

The dragon moved his neck so that his head was right in front of Dean. “You’re not gonna fly, either.”

Dean blinked. “What, then?”

“I’ll transport you to the city. You’ll be there within a matter of seconds,” he explained.

Dean looked over at Cas, eyes big, and then back at the dragon. “You wanna just… zap us there?”

“If you prefer to call it that,” the dragon said. “I’m tired of fighting off the demons. Since you have the weapon, you should give it to Michael as soon as possible so he can end this war. I couldn’t help with finding the original sword, but I can help you get back.”

“I—I really don’t like heights,” Dean warned.

“I said, it won’t be like flying.”

“What about Impala?”

“I’ll… zap her, too.”

Dean felt Cas’ hand on his shoulder and he turned to face the angel.

“If you’re not comfortable with this idea,” Cas said gently, “I can take the sword and fly to the city. It won’t be as quick, but at least—”

Dean grabbed Cas’ hand. “Uh-uh. No way. You’re not going by yourself.”

“You’ll be alright, Dean. You’re healed and strong again. And I’ll come back for you as soon as I can.”

“No. I mean, I’m not worried about me. I just… don’t want you travelling on your own.”

“I have my powers back. I can fly again.”

“Can’t demons fly, too?”

“No,” the dragon interrupted. “Have you ever seen them fly?”

“I don’t know, I just—”

“Dean.” Cas took Dean’s face in his hands and stepped closer. “I don’t have to fly alone. It was just a suggestion.”

Dean let his forehead rest against Cas’ for a few seconds, hands clutching at his tunic, and then he moved away and pointed at the dragon. “Okay, then. We’re doing it his way.”

“My name is Chuck, by the way,” the dragon specified.

Dean smiled and took Cas’ hand. “Okay, Chuck. Bring it on.”

 

***

 

All it took was the touch of Chuck’s claw on Dean’s chest and suddenly the world around them was sucked into the blackness that was immediately replaced with whirling colours of the courtyard. Dean released Cas’ hand and clutched his stomach, leaning over Impala.

“Uhhhh, God. I think I’m gonna be sick,” he mumbled and closed his eyes.

“That wasn’t entirely pleasant,” Castiel agreed. “Much worse than flying.”

“Please, Cas, don’t talk about flying when I’m about to throw up everything I’ve ever eaten.”

He felt the angel’s cold hand on the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Dean. Here, let me—”

The nauseous feeling was gone as soon as it’d started and Dean looked up at Cas, surprised, and found his fingers glowing faintly. “What did you just do?”

Cas’ eyes when he stared back at him were even brighter than his hand. “I healed you. I can do that now,” he stated joyously. “Is anything else bothering you?” He put his fingers on Dean’s temple and Dean felt warmth spreading all over his head. He huffed a laugh.

“No, Cas. No.” He caught the angel’s hand in between his. “I’m okay. I really am, you don’t have to heal me anymore.” He leant closer, glad to see happiness in Cas’ eyes. “Thanks, though.”

“Just say the word,” Cas whispered with his lips almost touching Dean’s.

“Kiss me,” Dean said and grinned.

“That’s two words,” Cas laughed, but then moved all the way and kissed him firmly on the mouth. Dean hummed with pleasure and wanted to kiss him back with all he had, but then they heard a loud grunt beside them and jumped apart.

“Michael is awaiting you,” said the dark-skinned angel in front of them, dressed in black armour, with his hands behind his back and a smirk on his lips.

“Thank you, Uriel,” Cas said and bowed his head a little.

Dean realised they were still holding hands so he let him go and stepped back towards Impala. “You go. I’ll take care of Baby,” he muttered, quickly unstrapped the sword, and handed it to Cas.

“He wants to see _both_ of you,” Uriel insisted.

Dean made a face but then shrugged and glanced at Impala. “Uh, okay. Can someone take care of my horse, then?”

Uriel looked as if that task was way below him, but all it took was one look from Castiel and he took Impala’s reins and tugged at them impatiently.

Dean turned to Cas. “Friend of yours?” he asked with a grin.

“Uriel used to be my second in command,” Cas said. “But it was a long time ago.”

“Yeah, right. He still listens to you.”

Dean caught sight of Castiel’s small smile, even though the angel tried to hide it. “I’m Michael’s brother. Many angels listen to me.”

They started to walk across the courtyard and headed towards the high arches decorating one of the walls. Dean pressed close to Cas and even if he wanted to look around to stare at the architecture of the fort, he couldn’t quite make himself look away from the angel at his side.

They went under one of the arches and continued walking along them, hidden from the morning sun and its heat. Cas led them inside the castle, through the heavy doors guarded by two angels who only needed to look at Castiel once to immediately step aside. Dean stared at the back of Cas’ head and smirked again.

“Hey, is this your home?” he asked.

Cas looked over his shoulder at him. “What?”

“I mean, is this where you normally live? Here, in this castle?”

“It’s not really a castle, more a fort,” the angel said. “And I’ve been on the road for months before our journey, I don’t really—”

“But you must have a home somewhere, don’t you? A place you keep all your stuff?”

“I don’t really have much… stuff. I’m a warrior.”

“What happens if there’s no war? Where do you go then?” Dean ran up to walk by his side again. “Do you live here?”

“No,” Cas replied, uncertain. “We don’t really live in this city. There’s nothing here, except for these fortifications.” He paused for a moment, eyes down, and just when Dean wanted to start asking questions again, he said, “I actually have a house.”

Dean could feel himself smile. “A house? That’s nice. Where?”

Cas looked over at him. “Illinois, the city where I was born,” he said with a small smile. “It used to be my friend Balthazar’s house, but he died during one of the wars. He left the house to me.” The angel looked away, a dreamy look on his face. “I haven’t seen that house for a long time.”

“Where’s this city, this Illinois?”

“Southeast, near the sea. It’s near the border with a human territory.”

Dean kicked at a non-existent rock, smiling at his own boots. “Are you going to come back there?”

He could feel Cas looking at him, but didn’t meet his eyes this time. “Maybe one day,” the angel said in a quiet voice.

After a few more minutes, they stopped in front of large wooden door, and when Cas knocked and opened them, Dean recognised the room as the one in which Michael had performed his spell. The same heavy red curtains covered most of the windows, the same big round table stood in the middle of the room. Dean stepped inside, annoyance starting to crawl inside him at the thought of Michael lying to him, taking advantage of Dean’s weak point, manipulating him into his own secret mission…

Then Michael emerged out of one of the corners and approached them.

“Castiel,” he greeted. “Dean. I’m so glad to see you again.”

Cas said his greetings, too, but Dean only scowled at Michael, his fists clenched at his sides.

“I’m sorry to call you at such short notice,” the angel continued, “but the matter is quite pressing. I will give you all the time you need to rest after we deal with it.”

“We understand,” Cas said, voice serious. “And I believe I’m not only speaking for myself when I say we feel rather good.”

“I could use a few hours of sleep,” Dean muttered, but got ignored again.

Michael nodded. “Tell me what happened, Castiel.”

“First,” Cas said and handed the sword to Michael, “let me give you this.”

The angel took the sword and the second his fingers closed around the hilt, he closed his eyes and sighed. Dean had been expecting something more spectacular—wind howling, sparks flying—but that was it. Michael opened his eyes and looked down at the weapon.

“It’s mine,” he whispered. Then he looked up at Cas. “How?”

Cas turned his head towards Dean and Michael followed his gaze.

“The previous night,” Michael said and stepped closer. “It happened the previous night, didn’t it? I felt it.”

“Yeah,” Dean finally spoke out. “Remember that amulet you said could help me find my father but you actually used it to find the dragon? Well, it turned out it could actually do much more.”

Michael tilted his head, a gesture so similar to the one Cas used to make that Dean had to look away for a moment.

“It wasn’t the dragon? _You_ made me a new sword?” the angel asked, dumbfounded. “Using your amulet?”

“The dragon knew nothing about your sword. He said it’s probably already destroyed. Which, you know what? Kind of make sense.”

Michael didn’t react to the argument. “This is amazing. I never imagined the amulet would be capable of such powerful magic.” He looked at Cas, standing still by Dean’s side. “We need to examine it more carefully, maybe we could use—”

Dean took a swing and punched him in the face.

“You are _not_ touching this amulet. Ever. Again,” he growled. “Stay away from me and my family, you bastard, or I will put that new pretty sword of yours right through your throat.”

And with that, he left the room.

 

***

 

Dean stirred awake when he heard the sound of closing doors. He forced himself to lift his head from the pillow and opened one eye.

“Cas?” he croaked when the angel’s silhouette appeared in line of sight.

“Oh, no. I didn’t want to wake you,” Cas whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Mhm.” Dean rubbed a hand over his face and smiled sleepily. “’S okay, don’t worry.” He stretched as Cas came closer to the bed, still uncertain.

“You really meant it when you said you wanted to sleep,” the angel said.

“Yeah. But they gave me my own room. I mean… I wanted to ask your friends where your room is, but I kinda chickened out.”

Cas stopped and looked down on him with a small smile.

“Although…” Dean propped himself on his elbow, the other hand smoothing out a blanket beneath him. “This bed is pretty big. And _reaaaaally_ soft. Where do you buy them? I want one like this in my own room, seriously.”

Cas chuckled. “You wouldn’t like my room, then. Unlike yours, it’s not a guest room and only has a single bed. Not very soft, either.”

“Oh.” Dean looked up at Cas through his lashes. “Okay. We can share mine, then.”

Cas smiled again and leant over, hands pushing into the mattress, and brushed his lips over Dean’s in a short, almost shy kiss. Dean hummed and, when the angel started to move away, caught his lips in a kiss again, one hand coming up to cup his jaw and tilt his head closer. Cas’ mouth parted when he felt Dean’s tongue against them, and Dean wasted no time in sliding inside and deepening the kiss, their moves slow and harmonised.

Cas grunted when Dean hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him onto the bed and all over himself, but he didn’t break the kiss. With one knee in between Dean’s legs, Cas continued kissing him, now faster, firmer, more impatient. They broke apart for a few seconds and Dean, almost unable to catch a breath, opened his eyes and stared at Cas right above him. The angel was already looking at him, the same hunger in his darkened eyes.

“Oh,” Dean managed to say in between the heavy breaths. “I’m definitely awake right now.”

“You can always go back to sleep,” Cas panted and his eyes flickered down to Dean’s lips, “just say the word.”

Dean smirked. “I’m not tired. Are you?”

“Do I look tired?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.” When Cas quirked a brow at him, Dean brushed his lips over Cas’ and murmured, “But we definitely shouldn’t get out of this bed until tomorrow.”

Cas’ eyes sparkled mischievously. “That’s a very good suggestion. I’ll let you rest tomorrow for as long as you want, but until then…”

Dean put a hand on the angel’s chest and stopped him from leaning in again. “I was thinking we could leave tomorrow. So what do you say we rest before that, and now try to spend this day more productively?”

Cas, brows pinched slightly, moved away farther. “Leave where?”

“Uh. I really should head back home. Sam must be going mad,” Dean said hesitantly. Didn’t Cas want to go with him? The thought that he’d assumed too much made him feel ill for a second.

“But I’m going with Michael tomorrow,” Cas said. “You can stay here for a few days and wait until I get back.”

“ _Wait until you get back_?” Dean repeated incredulously and started to sit up, forcing Cas to sit back on the bed, too. “You’re going with Michael? Where?”

Cas blinked. “He has the sword. There’s no more time to waste, we have to confront Lucifer and defeat him,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“So… you’re going into battle?”

“Well, yes. I’m a warrior.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, so I’ve heard, like a million times. But haven’t you done enough already? Do you still have to fight?”

“What else can I do?” Cas moved back on the bed even more, a look of confusion on his face. “Do you expect me to sit back and watch my brothers and sisters fight instead of me?”

“Uhh, yes?” Dean jumped off the bed and started to pace the room. “You did what was expected of you, Cas. Now let the others do the rest, okay?”

“No, Dean.” Castiel joined him on the floor, too. “I can’t do that. I can’t just stay in the castle and let everyone else die fighting to finally end this war.”

“And it’d be okay if you died?” Dean laughed humourlessly.

“I may survive. If Michael manages to defeat Lucifer, demons won’t pose a threat to us anymore.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Cas frowned. “Then nothing else will matter. If Michael can’t kill Lucifer with the sword, the war will continue and—”

“So what,” Dean asked, still too taken aback by Cas’ words to even try to control his anger, “you will just probably die anyway, right? Together with your angel pals? While I sit here and wait for you like some fucking damsel in distress?”

“I don’t understand that—”

“And then what?” Dean crossed the room to stand in front of Cas, hands curling into fists by his sides. “I just go back home by myself? Because, oh no, the stupid asshole that had sacrificed almost everything trying to help his brother now went and got himself killed just to serve the higher purpose? Is this what you expect me to do after you don’t come back? Just leave?”

Cas shook his head. “There’s no guarantee I will die during the battle.”

“And there’s no guarantee you’ll live!” Dean waved his arms in front of Cas’ face. “Come on, Cas! This is fucking ridiculous! Is Michael forcing you to do it?”

“No one’s forcing me, Dean,” Cas said quietly, anger showing up on his face, as well. “It is my duty as a soldier and as our leader’s brother. I have to go. I thought you’d understand.”

“Well, I don’t!”

“Well, you’re not a soldier,” Cas bit and turned away.

“It’s not even a question of being a soldier, Cas!” Dean shouted. “This is suicide! Why do you have to go?” he asked again, more desperate this time.

“Because everyone else is.”

“Everyone else didn’t risk their lives looking for a fucking dragon all across the country,” Dean hissed. “Everyone else isn’t leaving me in some angel castle and telling me to wait in case they decide to come back alive.”

“It’s not about you, Dean,” Cas said, voice sharp. “I just have to—”

“Oh, sure.” Dean laughed bitterly. “Not about me. I don’t matter, right?” Dean turned away from the angel, unable to look at him any longer. “You just _have_ to go do your soldierly duty, everything else be damned. Well, okay, then. Go to hell, Cas. It was nice knowing you.”

“Dean—”

“I said, go to hell.” Dean stared at the wall in front of him. He didn’t even flinch when he heard the door slam.

 

***

 

He didn’t leave the room for the whole day, first too furious to be able to face anyone, then too anxious Castiel had already left and they’d never see each other again. He went out after that, desperate to find him and talk to him, but everywhere he looked, angels were preparing for the battle, too busy to pay him any mind. Seeing them made him angry again and he went back to his room, ready to leave the castle immediately, but then he realised it had already gotten dark outside. Deciding to take off first thing in the morning, he went back to bed, ignoring the way it felt too big and too empty without Cas.

But he couldn’t sleep, thoughts of Cas all armoured up, bloody, lying somewhere in the middle of a field among thousands upon thousands of demon corpses constantly in his head. Nightmares mixed up with conscious moments of hating Cas and when he finally opened up his eyes to the first light of the day, he felt even more on edge than the day before.

Packing the bag he’d brought over from the stable, Dean tried to ignore the sounds coming from the outside. He risked only one look, saw the angels forming up in the faint daylight, and felt so sick he needed to sit down on the bed for a moment.

He heard a knock some time later, when he was still seated on the bed, face in his hands, trying to think of the way Sam would react to seeing him again after so long. He stiffened, breath catching in his throat.

The knock sounded again, more impatient. He stood up, knees weak and heart hammering, and went to open the door. He did everything he could to make his face look emotionless, but he still winced when he saw Cas standing right outside his door.

“Hello, Dean,” the angel said in a quiet voice.

Dean turned away without a word, opened door ready to welcome Cas in if he wanted to come in.

He didn’t.

“I came to say goodbye,” Cas said.

Dean shook his head. “I said my goodbye yesterday,” he said to the wall.

The angel was silent for a moment. “Dean, I’m leaving. We’re almost ready to go.”

Dean could only shrug. He was suddenly very glad there was no mirror in the room because he really wouldn’t want to see his own reflection: face contorted in an ugly grimace which tried but failed to hide his real thoughts.

“We’ve been through so much together, you and I,” Cas whispered. “I already thanked you so many times and I would thank you a thousand more if it could ever equal the debt I owe you for saving my life. No matter what happens after today, Dean, I will never, _ever_ forget that.”

“You will,” Dean muttered, “if you’re dead.”

“Dean, there—there’s a chance I may survive this. We’re good warriors, we can fight off demons for a very long time, and then maybe—”

“Is that all you wanted to say to me? ‘Cause I really don’t have time,” Dean interrupted him.

“No. No, it’s not. Will you—will you be here when I come back?” Cas asked and Dean tried to ignore the way his voice cracked in the middle of the sentence.

“I won’t,” he said gruffly. “I’m not staying here. I’m going home.”

“Oh.”

Dean busied himself with his bag, pretending he still needed to pack something and put everything in place. He hoped Castiel would take the hint and go away without a word, but the angel still stood in the opened door to his room, neither in nor out.

“I wish I could spend more time with you,” Cas said finally. Dean huffed and closed his eyes, feeling something hot prickle in their corners. “I wish I could make you see yourself the same way I see you.”

“And what way is that?” Dean barked.

“You saved us all, Dean. Michael may deal the last blow and kill Lucifer, but it wouldn’t be possible without you. You gave us the sword. You saved us—”

Dean threw his bag to the floor and stomped over to the door. “Spare me your sweet-talking, Cas,” he said. “‘You saved me, Dean, blah blah blah, you saved the world, Dean, blah blah blah. We had such a great time together, Dean! But now go to hell’,” he mocked. “This is how you sound to me right now, Cas.”

“I just want you to understand!” Cas made one small step in his direction and Dean immediately backed away.

“Oh, believe me, I get it,” Dean scoffed and turned away again. “I get it, Cas.”

“I don’t think you do,” Cas whispered. “Dean. I love you.”

Dean froze.

“What?” he stammered.

“I love you, Dean. This is how I feel about you. I love you and I want to come back to you,” Cas said, voice steady.

Dean’s hand found the door handle and gripped it tightly. “Then don’t go,” he said.

“Dean, please. Please understand. I need to help my brothers and sisters.”

Dean turned slowly, still not able to make eye contact with the angel and looking at his chest, covered in armour again. “You already have.”

“I can’t leave them,” Cas said desperately.

“What about me?” Dean finally looked up and didn’t even try to hide the tremble in his voice. “What if you—what if you don’t come back? How can I go back home without you after what you’ve said to me?”

Cas breathed out, loud and shaky.

“You only recently got your powers back,” Dean went on. “I can’t believe your brother would force you to go fight today.”

“He’s not forcing me,” Cas whispered and averted his eyes.

“Then stop playing a goddamn hero,” Dean said and moved one step forward. “You don’t need to do that anymore.”

When Dean put a hand on his shoulder, Cas looked up, eyes big, blue, and unsure.

“Then what do I do, Dean?”

“Let the others do the fighting now,” Dean said, “and stay with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The spell is actually a part of the poem (full version [here](http://www.suberic.net/~marc/gaidheal.html))


	12. Epilogue

“Home sweet home,” Dean muttered under his breath. “Thank God.”

Cas scowled at him from where he was sitting on his new chestnut horse, but didn’t say anything.

Dean had been recognising the surroundings for the whole day, but only now was he finally sure they were getting closer and closer to Lawrence.

“Let’s go faster,” he suggested after seeing first houses and cottages. The thought of meeting Sam, no matter how angry he would be at him, made his insides dance impatiently. Impala seemed to notice the familiar area, too, because her gait had become more eager and energetic.

“I’m too tired,” Cas said in a dull voice. “And so is my horse.”

“Oh, right,” Dean quipped. “Maybe you should’ve stayed in the inn.”

Cas sighed, but didn’t answer again, which irritated Dean even more. They had been travelling like that all day, since they left the inn where they’d spent the night and Cas had flirted with that Meg girl the whole morning. Of course later he couldn’t understand why Dean was in such a foul mood, then denied even _trying_ to flirt—“ _I was just being nice, Dean_ ,”—and in the end, when they started quarrelling, he had to use all the most complicated words to make Dean feel even more stupid and useless. Cas got offended at that accusation and stopped talking altogether.

Dean couldn’t wait to see Sam and be yelled at by him. Everything was better than Cas’ silent treatment and the occasional cutting comments that they had been throwing at each other over the past few hours.

They rode by Benny’s tavern and Dean bit his lip. ‘Oh, look, Cas. This is where I first saw you,’ he would say if Cas wasn’t such a know-it-all. ‘Remember? You were wearing that stupid hood and I thought, what idiot wears a hood inside the building?’ Then they passed the now empty building and Dean smiled to himself. ‘It used to be a forge,’ he would say. ‘Dad bought me my first real knife there.’

He was about to finally break the silence and say something, _anything_ , to relieve the pressure between them, but suddenly Cas stopped his horse and jumped off.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked, glancing back at him.

“What does it look like?” Cas didn’t look at him, just led the horse to the old wooden fence and tied the reins around it.

“Cas, that’s someone’s house,” Dean said incredulously.

“Good. It’s very aesthetically pleasing.”

“You’re aesthe—” Dean bit his tongue when Cas stared at him, brows raised. “Why the hell are you stopping here?”

“I told you, I’m tired.”

“My house is a ten-minute walk from here!” Dean gestured at the path ahead of them. “Can’t you rest there?”

“My horse is dehydrated,” Castiel said calmly.

“Your horse is _what_?”

Cas took a swig out of his wineskin and sent Dean a weary look. “Thirsty.”

Dean rubbed a hand over his face, annoyed. Of course he couldn’t have said that straight away. “So what, you’re gonna make him drink from your wineskin?” he teased and then watched, unbelieving, as Cas poured some water on his hand and put it right under the horse’s mouth. “Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered and turned Impala back. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“No, Dean, I’m not kidding you. I’m just being nice to my horse. And, by being nice, I don’t mean flirting. Just so you know.”

Dean put his hands up in the air. “You could’ve fooled me.” He saw Cas sit down under the fence and he groaned. “Come on, Cas! You’re fucking doing this on purpose,” he hissed.

“Really?” Cas tilted his head and stared at Dean, eyes hard. “It’s _that_ obvious?”

“Yes, it fucking is,” Dean growled and waited for the angel to comment on his limited vocabulary _again_ , but Cas didn’t. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked away.

“Oh, I’m sorry, then. I should have told you,” he said. “Yes, Dean, I’m doing this _on purpose_. I just want you to see that this is how I do things on purpose. Everything else? Not. On. Purpose.”

Dean gritted his teeth. “Okay, you proved your point. Happy?”

Cas stood up with a stormy face. “Do I look happy?”

“You never look happy.”

“Guess whose fault that is.”

Dean pushed his heels into Impala’s sides and rode closer to where Cas was standing. “Get on your horse or I’ll leave you here and go by myself,” he threatened.

Cas just raised his brows at him, climbed up on the saddle, and shouted at the horse to run down the path, not looking back. Dean cursed and ran after him.

He was sure Castiel would need to stop and ask him for directions at least once, but the angel continued on his way without hesitation, still ahead of him, and when Dean finally noticed his house behind the corner, his fingers were almost white from gripping Impala’s reins too tight.

Cas stopped by the path leading to the doors, the same path Dean followed when he dragged the half-dead angel that one night. Dean saw Sam run out of the house, too-long hair fluttering behind his head, and he couldn’t help but smile. After Michael had come back from the battle, Castiel had made sure angels would deliver a message to Sam so that he and Dean could have all the time they needed to go back to Lawrence. That could only make Sam less worried, and not less angry, though.

Dean rode up to where Cas’ horse was still standing. “Move,” he barked, forcing him to get out of the way, and then jumped off the saddle even before Impala stopped.

“Dean!” Sam shouted at him.

Dean smirked. “Hey, kid! Guess who’s ba—Ow!” Sam crushed him in a strong hug and Dean huffed a laugh, hugging back. It’d only been a few weeks since he’d last seen Sam, but he could swear his brother had gotten even taller and more muscular.

Then Sam pulled away and hit his arm, hard.

“Ow!” Dean said again, frowning. “What the hell?”

“ _What the hell_? Don’t you think I should be asking _you_ that?” Sam snapped at him.

“No!” Dean rubbed his arm. “I thought you got the message!”

“I did.” Sam punched him again, lighter this time, and Dean yelped inelegantly, batting at his hand. “A week ago! What about earlier?”

“What about it?” Dean asked gruffly.

“I think your brother means all those days you were gone and he had no idea where you were,” Cas said.

“Yeah, thanks, captain obvious,” Dean snarked. “I kinda got that.”

“Oh, sorry, then. I just thought you had problems with understanding people again.”

Dean turned back and glared at him. “Shut up, asshole.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Dean?”

Dean turned to him again. “Sam, come on! I’m back now. Stop being a little bitch about that.”

“Dean—”

“And don’t tell me you didn’t know. I told you where I was going. Maybe you were just too drunk to notice that—”

“That’s not what I wanted to say!” Sam said impatiently and then waved his hand in Cas’ direction. “Is—is that Castiel?”

Dean raised his brows. “You’ve got amnesia, too? Yeah, it’s Castiel.”

“Hello, Sam,” Cas said from his horse.

“I don’t have amnesia, Dean,” Sam said and smiled at the angel. Dean rolled his eyes. “I just… I’m glad to see you’re okay again, man. Last time you were here—”

“I know,” Cas said. “I’m fine now.”

“Great,” Sam said, still smiling, then looked back at Dean. “And I heard the war is over.”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah. Well. I heard that, too.”

“Dean, please, the angels told me what you—”

“Let’s not talk about that now, okay?” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “I just really, really wanna go inside. We can talk later, okay?”

Dean grabbed Impala’s reins, pushed them into Sam’s hands, and wanted to go past him, but Sam caught him by the shoulder.

“Will you tell me about Dad?” Sam asked, eyes big and sad, and Dean froze for a moment. Sam had probably asked the angels about Dean’s search mission and they must have told him John was completely out of the picture now, but he still didn’t know the whole story.

Dean sighed and patted Sam’s hand. “Of course I will,” he said and smiled at his brother.

 

***

 

Dean pushed his fingers into Cas’ hair and moaned into his mouth.

“Dean,” Cas panted and pulled away.

Dean, gaze unfocused, looked down at him from when he was straddling Cas’ thighs. “Yeah?” he croaked.

“Do you still want to go with me to my city?” the angel asked quietly.

Dean felt the corner of his mouth curl up. “Do you still want me to go with you?” he murmured.

“Of course.” Cas brushed his lips over Dean’s jaw and started to kiss his way up to his ear. “Always.”

“Even though I don’t know too many sophisticated words?”

“I never said that,” Cas whispered. “You came up with that yourself.”

“Fair enough.” Dean brushed his fingers through Cas’ hair, kissed his temple, then hid his smile in his hair. “You promise not to flirt with anyone?”

Cas stiffened in his arms and started to back away, a dark expression on his face.

Dean burst out laughing. “I’m kidding! Cas, I’m kidding,” he said and planted a quick kiss on the angel’s upturned lips.

“You’re infuriating,” Cas grumbled.

“I don’t think I’ve ever used that word in my entire life,” Dean joked and gently pushed his hips down. Cas grabbed his waist and pulled him closer, mouth open and hungry over Dean’s smiling lips, his tongue hot and possessive when it slid inside with no hesitation.

Dean stopped smiling and kissed him back, all thoughts of jokes and talking disappearing from his head in an instant.

But then the door to his room opened.

“Dean, we need to—Oh my God!” Sam screamed and slammed the door with so much force, Dean heard ringing in his ears.

Dean broke the kiss and stared down at Cas, seeing the same shocked expression on his face.

“He should’ve knocked,” he said and then they both snorted loudly. Dean hid his face in Cas’ shoulder and giggled, feeling Cas’ wide hands clutch at the back of his shirt and his warm breath on his neck.

“Dean?” Sam asked through the door, his voice so obviously terrified that it set them off  laughing again. “Oh my God, Dean, can I come in? We really need to talk!”

Dean cupped Cas’ face and kissed him for a few long seconds, sneaking in a little tongue and teasing the angel’s lips, and then stood up from his lap and grinned down at him.

“Yeah!” he shouted, voice only a little raspy. “Come on in!”

“Are you guys decent…?” Sam asked through the crack in the door.

“Yeah,” Dean said and huffed a laugh again, seeing Sam’s wide eyes and his flushed face. “What’s up, Sammy?”

Sam glanced at Cas, then quickly back to Dean. “Uhh. I just—I thought you guys were fighting.”

Dean smirked. “Yeah, well. We do that sometimes, too,” he said.

“Oh.” Sam nodded, but still couldn’t really look at them for too long.

“We also like to have sex,” Cas said matter-of-factly from his place on the bed.

They both stared at him for a second, and now even Dean could feel his face heat up. Sam said something in gibberish and fled the room, face red and hands flailing.

“ _Dude!_ ” Dean whispered.

Cas tilted his head and smiled innocently. “Did I say something wrong?”

Dean groaned, went over to him, and kissed him hard on the lips. Cas teased him with his tongue and teeth for a while, then pushed him away, a smile still on his lips.

“Go talk to your brother,” he said. “I’ll stay here.”

“You better,” Dean muttered, sent Cas a heated glare, and left the room.

Sam wasn’t in the house. Dean found him outside, sitting on the step just outside their door.

“So,” his brother started conversationally. “You and Castiel.”

Dean scratched his nose. “Yeaaah.”

“How did this happen?” Sam glanced at him, curious.

“Hell if I know.” Dean shrugged. “Just happened. Do you… You don’t mind it, do you?”

Sam smiled and looked up at the sky, coloured in oranges and reds and purples from the slowly setting sun. “No, Dean. I’m glad you’re happy.”

“Heh. Uh, thanks, I guess.”

“Because you _are_ happy, right?”

Dean rubbed at his nose again. “Yeah, Sam. I—I think I am. I mean—this is a bit new, but—it doesn’t feel new, you know? Somehow.”

He felt Sam’s hand on his shoulder. “Like I said, I’m happy for you.”

They sat in silence for a while, Dean soaking in the feeling of being back home with his brother at his side. He really had no idea how much he’d missed that.

“You know,” Sam started after a moment. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Dean just looked at him.

“Uh. Jess is coming over tomorrow morning,” Sam said. “I hope that’s okay.”

Dean shoved his brother playfully with his elbow. “Sure thing, tiger. I’ve got a feeling it’s not the first time she’s ‘come over’ while I was gone, is it?” he asked and watched Sam’s face turn red again. “Yeah, I’ve seen all her stuff in the house. She must’ve been here often, huh? Or she’s just very forgetful.”

“No, it’s not—I mean, yes. She visited me when you were gone,” Sam admitted. “A lot.”

“That’s great, Sammy. Really. I don’t mind.”

Sam turned his head and looked at him, a serious expression on his face. “Dean, I want to ask her to marry me.”

Dean waited for the hopeless feeling of Sam leaving him, but it didn’t come. Surprised, he just smiled a bit wider. “Oh, God. That’s—that’s awesome. I mean, really, Sam. Jess is great. That’s really awesome.”

“Really?” Sam seemed surprised. “You’re not mad?”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Why would I be mad?”

He knew Sam’s answer even before he opened his mouth to speak.

“Because I’m not going to hunt anymore. I wanna start a family with Jess, Dean, a real family, not like the one we used to have with Dad.” Dean looked down for a second, a familiar old sour feeling in his stomach, but it passed as quickly as it started. “I’m sorry, Dean, but that’s the truth.”

“I know,” Dean muttered. “And I get it. I’m not mad.”

Sam sighed out in relief. “Oh. Oh, that’s good. I mean, I would still ask her, even if you were, but—”

Dean laughed and hit him in the shoulder with his fist, and Sam laughed, too.

“So, what,” Dean wiggled his brows, “she’s moving in with you or what?”

Sam bit his lip. “Uh, that’s another thing. We kinda want to look for our own place.” Dean blinked, surprised, and Sam continued quickly, “Not now. We still can’t really afford it, but—Dean, I love our house, I do, but I just want to live in my own house. And I definitely don’t want to live with my older brother and the love of his life.”

Dean gasped at that. “He’s not—! And I—Who said I’m gonna live here?”

“You’re not?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know.” Dean looked away. “I mean, we can’t all live here.”

“I told you, we won’t live here—”

“You will for now, right? You said you still can’t afford a new house. She’s moving in slowly, isn’t she?” Dean sent Sam a knowing look.

“Maybe,” Sam muttered.

“See? It’s not a place for four people. We could barely stand it when Dad used to be here, too,” Dean joked and Sam smiled gently at that. “Plus, me and Cas… We’re thinking of going away for a while.”

“Again?” Sam huffed a laugh. “Wow, you two really must like this living on a horseback thing.”

“No, it’s not only that.” Dean wrenched his hands. “We’re going to Cas’ city. He wants to show me his own house.”

Sam whistled. “And where is that?”

Dean laughed awkwardly. “I really have no idea. But it’s not anywhere near, so I guess we’ll be gone for a while. So don’t worry,” Dean looked at his younger brother, “stay here for as long as you want. You and Jess deserve a pretty house, so you gotta find something nice, you hear me?”

“Yes, Mom,” Sam teased and rolled his eyes.

Dean elbowed him in the ribs.

“Watch it, kid,” he said. “I still can embarrass you in front of your fiancée.”

“Whatever, jerk.” Sam stood up and tried kicking him in the shin, but Dean got up, too, and kicked him instead. “Hey! Stop it, or I’ll tell Cas how you used to run around naked all the time when you were little!”

“Everyone did that!”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Mr. Dangle!”

Dean tried to cuff him upside the head but couldn’t really reach. Sam laughed and jumped off the step onto the path.

“Where’re you going?” Dean asked. “Isn’t it too late for you to be going out, missy?”

“Ha ha,” Sam mocked him. “I’m going out. I’m not staying in the same house with you and Castiel. And you better behave when I come back later! I really don’t wanna see _anything_!”

“Hey, we’re not that bad!”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“Like I’ve never caught you and Jess,” Dean complained.

“It definitely wasn’t the same thing,” Sam said and started to walk away backwards.

“Whatever.” Dean waved a hand at him. “Just get the hell out of here.”

“Don’t even touch my bed!” Sam shouted before taking off.

Dean smirked and went back inside.

 

***

 

There was a familiar shape up in the sky and, despite the bright sunlight, Dean couldn’t take his eyes off it.

“Come down, you smug son of a bitch,” he murmured, but a smile stayed on his face. He focused his attention on making sure the meat he kept above the flames was browned evenly on both sides and didn’t look up even when a big shadow flew right over him a few times in a row. “Show-off,” he snorted good-naturedly.

He didn’t hear him land, but after a moment he felt his presence right at his side and turned his head to look at him.

“Is it ready?” Castiel asked.

Dean stared at his face, mesmerised. He had never seen Cas smile so wide, with his eyes so bright and so sparkling, hair an absolute mess that somehow made him look even more attractive. His cheeks were flushed, a healthy pink colour spreading down into his neck as well. Cas looked back at him, a smile in his eyes.

“Almost,” Dean whispered and then moved forward to kiss him on the lips. Cas melted into him, lips soft and pliant and cool against Dean’s warmth. The wings, spread lazily on the grass behind their backs, rustled and puffed out happily as Cas put more pressure into the kiss.

Dean smiled and pulled away only to bow his head and plant a small kiss on the top of the wing closest to him. Cas sighed against his neck and pressed closer. The wings twitched and Dean didn’t hesitate before moving forward and dropping another kiss on the smooth feathers.

“Dean,” Cas breathed out into his skin.

“Hope you had fun flying,” Dean hummed as his fingers sank into the feathers.

Cas moaned. “I—I did.”

“That’s good. That’s very good.” Dean pushed at the angel’s shoulder and gently turned him away, so that he could kiss the naked skin between the wings. Cas shivered, his back arching.

“I want to fly with you,” he managed.

Dean huffed a laugh against the feathers. “You know I hate high places. The sky is definitely a high place.”

“Just one time,” Cas whispered. “I promise I won’t drop you.”

“I know you wouldn’t, sweetheart.” Dean tugged delicately at the feathers, making Cas groan. “But I can’t do it. Plus, it’s something you love, and I won’t take it away from you.”

Suddenly, Cas turned in his arms to face him again, a stubborn look on his flushed face. “I love _you_ ,” he said.

Dean’s heart sang, the same way it had before every time Cas had said those words to him. Face turning red, he dipped his head and pressed his lips to Cas’ jawline. “I know,” he murmured.

Cas’ fingers clutched at the shirt at his back and his wings fluttered upwards and brushed against Dean’s arms. Something tight and warm gripped his insides and he rested his chin on the angel’s shoulder, looking over to where the road they’d chosen to travel on winded behind the trees. Cas sat still in his embrace and only his wings moved gently in the light morning breeze.

Dean nosed at Cas’ neck, feeling as if he would burst if he didn’t do something just then. It was their third day on the road to Castiel’s city and he’d never thought he could be so happy after so many nights spent on the hard ground—but he was. Cas would often be grumpy in the mornings and Dean would always smile and kiss the frown off his face until they were ready to travel again. They would bicker over the smallest things and Dean would miss his brother and the friends he’d left in Lawrence like hell, but he also couldn’t wait to see the city Castiel used to live in when he was a kid. The amulet around his neck was now not only a gift from his brother, but also a reminder of what happened between him and Cas because of it.

Dean brushed his lips against Cas’ skin and closed his eyes. “I love you, too,” he whispered. The angel flinched when he heard him and wanted to pull away, probably to look at him with his wide blue eyes, but Dean felt too vulnerable to let him do that, so he kept him close instead, face buried in his neck. Finally, Cas relaxed in his arms again; Dean smiled when he felt his wings wrap around him.

They stayed like that for some time and only moved when Castiel’s stomach growled. Dean laughed and pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said, but didn’t look sorry, his eyes staring at Dean with some new wonderment.

Dean tried to ignore the blush creeping onto his face and reached for the meat he’d discarded after Cas had landed. “Here, eat your breakfast, Feathers,” he said.

Castiel took his portion of the hare from him and bit into it immediately. “What about you?” he asked with his mouth full.

“Already ate.” Dean waved his hand dismissively, then kicked some dirt into the fire to put it out. “You want something to drink?”

“Do we still have some of that wine from the inn?”

“Nope. All gone. Remember yesterday?” Dean smirked.

Cas stared at him even despite a light blush on his face. “I doubt I could ever forget it,” he stated.

Dean chuckled and looked down. Wine, warm summer night, and Cas right beside him? Yeah, he wouldn’t forget it, either.

“We should do it again sometime,” he said with a grin.

Cas nodded, a serious look on his face. “We need wine, then. We have to find another inn.” The fire in his eyes made Dean shiver but he tried not to show it. “We should go back on the road immediately, Dean.”

Dean laughed out loud. “So eager, I love it,” he said and leant forward to kiss him again.

“You love _me_ ,” Cas said with a spark in his eyes.

Dean stopped for a second and swallowed. Cas didn’t look away, nor did the soft look on his face change. Dean didn’t have to worry, so he went all the way, pressed his lips to Cas’, and said, “Yes, I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're interested, check out my inspiration playlist [here](https://8tracks.com/teacass/the-shadows-behind-us-dcbb-2015) and my storyboard [here](https://www.pinterest.com/fuszigi/dcbb/). You can also find me on [tumblr](http://teacass.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/teacass)!


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